


By the Pale Moonlight

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Kidlock, M/M, Teen Mystrade, Teenlock, Vampire AU, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 175,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When young vampire, Mycroft Holmes, ran across young drifter, Greg Lestrade, in the woods one warm summer's evening, neither had any idea they'd found the love of their life... well, maybe they had <i>some</i> idea, but Sherlock's petulant shrieking might have clouded things a bit...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Mystrade Exchange expressly for The Galactic Fox, to whom I am very grateful for giving me the chance to write this little story. Ok, maybe little isn't the right word, but I sincerely hope folks enjoy the ride...

      “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

_Ridiculous, Mycroft.  You are simply envious of my prowess.  Practice... I defile that idea with my spittle.  I am a superior being and have no need to practice a natural ability._

      “Now that we have determined you have yet to master flight, brother dear, will you agree to begin your lessons tomorrow evening?”

      “I am supremely skilled in flight!  I… if forced by dire and draconian means, I _might_ admit that I could benefit from a few focused tips on the process of landing.”

Sherlock, in his newly-learned bat form, was exactly as adorable as in his human form and it was to Mycroft’s eternal misery that he had a significant weakness for the adorable.  Even when that adorableness was desperately clinging to a tree branch with one tiny, taloned foot.  Holding out his hand beneath his brother’s form, the older Holmes nodded for Sherlock to release his tenuous perch and caught the bundle in his palm, before setting it on the ground to morph into the small, tousle-headed boy who had been told, in no uncertain terms, not to try to follow his older brother into the night unless said brother had been properly and previously notified.

      “Consider your predicament and subsequent discovery your penalty for your scurrilous spying.”

      “I am not a spy!  That more properly describes your incessant skullduggery and nosy-parkering!”

      “Then, may I ask why you were following me without announcing your presence.”

      “I… my actions are not yours to question!”

      “I heartily disagree, since I am responsible for your welfare and its maintenance; however, had you simply asked to accompany me, I would have agreed and, perhaps, spared you this abject humiliation by taking my evening constitutional as a stroll rather than a flight.”

      “Ramble amongst the rabble!  The mere thought appalls me.  If I must venture beyond our doors it shall be at an altitude such that I do not have to be assaulted by the waft of poverty, disease and illiteracy.”

      “And here we have another example of why our race labored so long under the flag of prejudice and fear.”

      “You have not labored a day in your life!”

      “Merely a literary musing, Sherlock.”

      “Pfft. In any case, why did you choose to stop in this completely boring spot?  There is naught here but trees, insects and dirt.”

      “Though those three most assuredly may be found in this particular area, there is one thing you have notably overlooked, probably while plummeting to your doom in this lovely tree.  Look to your left…”

Sherlock peered between his nemeses, the trees, and caught sight of a flickering light in the distance.

      “Who or what would be sufficiently stupid to stop for the night on our property?”

      “That was what I hoped to determine.  Though, our property does extend for ages in all directions and father has turned a blind eye of late to those who pass through, so long as they do so without fuss.”

      “What!  He has allowed the peasants access to the grounds!”

      “They have always had access to the grounds, brother dear.  He simply no longer invites the werewolf pack that lives at the edges of our lands to hunt them.”

Not that he ever had, in truth, but the rumor had been enough to keep potential miscreants from creating havoc on their property.

      “Father is growing weak in his dotage.”

      “I shall pass along your assessment.  I am certain he will gladly use his last remaining centuries of life to demonstrate to you most clearly the degree of his weakness.”

      “Treachery… I am not surprised.  The spy is but one step removed from the traitor.”

      “Oh good.  It shall be an easy thing, then, to relocate.  Now, if you are able to remain quiet, we might explore this situation, then tend to the problem of getting you home safely.  It is quite a walking distance, I’m afraid, but I also worry your tiny wings have depleted their supply of energy.”

      “How dare you!  My wings are well supplied with energy for they have not the burden of transporting a vast and unwieldy bulk such as yours.”

      “Then perhaps we shall put that to the test once we have ascertained who is making use of our land.”

Mycroft made a sign for Sherlock to be silent, which was, as expected, waved off with a thunderous scowl, then both boys crept through the trees to investigate what must be a small fire.  Why they were creeping, Mycroft was not entirely certain, as it would be difficult for a human to harm him, let alone kill him, but Sherlock was not yet sufficient aged to have his full defensive capabilities and it _was_ possible that he would be threatened by a forceful and strategic attack.  Not that the figure they finally observed seemed very capable of delivering it.

      “Ugh… if there is a weedier specimen of the peasantry in existence, I pray I never meet them.  Already my stomach is roiling with disgust.”

Weedy?  Silly boy… lithe was a better word.  Though it was obviously not the human’s normal condition.  The slightly sunken cheeks and ill-fittingness of the clothes told quite a story about the… was it rude to assign a sexually-suggestive descriptor to a person to whom one had not been introduced?  Perhaps that should wait until they _had_ been properly introduced.  Shaken hands.  Fallen into deep and passionate kisses.  Taken their pleasures with each other’s naked and willing bodies…

      “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to confront the transient!”

Which took the matter quite out of Mycroft’s hands, since Sherlock’s shrill shrieking put the figure sitting by the fire on alert.

      “Who’s there?”

A quick whack to his brother’s head preceded Mycroft’s step forward, to be seen in the firelight.

      “Just me, I’m afraid.”

      “And me!  You shall not leave me to huddle in the darkness like a frightened sparrow!”

      “And my brother.”

Mycroft smiled what he hoped somewhat resembled an affable and non-threatening smile, but knew well it was not exactly his greatest talent.  Especially when his fangs were aching to drop and sink themselves into the glorious creature whose beauty glowed more brightly than the fire near which he sat.  Just for a simple feeding, of course.  A simple naked, entwined feeding where more bodily fluids than blood played a starring role.

      “And who are you?”

Said in an arousingly-rough voice that made Mycroft’s toes curl with anticipation of hearing that voice saying very filthy things in his ear.  Not that he really had a firm idea of what those filthy things would be since his experience with things filthy currently hovered at zero, but it was silly to ponder details when even his toes were being carnally affected.

      “Mycroft Holmes, at your service.  And this is Sherlock.”

      “Though I am most certainly _not_ at your service!”

      “Hush, Sherlock.  I hope we did not startle you.  We simply saw the light and were curious as to its source.”

      “Ok… but why are you out here this late at night, anyway?”

Mycroft surreptitiously sniffed the air and marveled at the supremely masculine aroma that perfumed the man to whom he was speaking.  But there was a supporting scent of nervousness, even fear, that he felt profoundly obligated to erase.  His lover in this day’s upcoming suite of dreams should never feel anything but pure bliss and unbridled passion when they were together

      “Merely enjoying the night air and the quiet it brings.  I often indulge in a constitutional at this hour, actually, which is why I was intrigued by your fire.  Normally, the only source of illumination for quite some distance is the moon.”

      “Oh… I guess that makes sense.  You… you want to sit?”

      “No!  My trousers shall not be soiled by your hobo dirt!”

      “Manners, brother dear.  Thank you, we would be delighted.”

Mycroft shoved Sherlock forward and followed quickly, taking a seat a socially-appropriate distance away from their host.  Well… perhaps a slightly closer than socially-appropriate distance, but the campfire produced only so much illumination.  Which, of course, he didn’t require since he could see perfectly well in the dark, but this exquisite and virile specimen of humanity did not need to know that fact quite yet.

      “And may we have the honor of knowing your name?”

      “It’s Greg.  Greg Lestrade.”

      “Boring.”

      “Sherlock, be polite or be absent.  It is very nice to meet you, Gregory.  Might I inquire as to what brought _you_ out on such a lovely night?”

      “Just passing through.”

      “Transient!  I knew there was the stench of rough living on him and I am proved correct!”

      “SHERLOCK!  Do pardon him, my brother was fatigued by our excursion and is behaving poorly, as children are apt to do.”

      “Slander!”

Mycroft made a mental note to refresh himself on the various tales concerning spells to bind the will of a vampire and try them on his brother at their earliest possible convenience.  However, Sherlock’s lunacy did seem to have an uplifting effect on their gracious and gorgeous companion…

      “Your brother’s a right handful, isn’t he?”

Said with a smile that cast its own spell over one delightfully-mesmerized member of the vampire race.

      “And my hands are not small, as you can see, so you can imagine the _magnitude_ of the handful that is Sherlock.”

And yes, please cast a glance at the very long fingers of the hands that were definitely not extended for inspection so a connection between hand size and other body proportions might be made.  Not that this particularly lonely vampire male had been provided with the chance to verify that particular claim, but the servant population seemed to believe it a time-honored truth and he had learned long ago not to discount the opinions of the older humans who had, oddly, seen more of life than he who had nearly two centuries of years to his name.  And his new acquaintance was smiling…

      “You’re a better man than I am.  I’d have lost my mind long before now.  These hands can’t hold nearly as much as yours.”

How accommodating, presenting your own assets for inspection.  Your deliciously meaty and ample assets…

      “I am quite certain they would be more than sufficiently robust for the task.”

And another smile… how appropriate that they were under the moon since Gregory’s smile was positively luminous.

      “I’ll happily accept the compliment.”

      “ _I_ will happily accept a pail into which to hurl my stomach contents.”

      “Sherlock, I do believe that if you begin chewing, you might make it completely through your tongue by the time the sun rises.  Why don’t you begin and I shall score your performance.”

Sherlock’s rude noise set both Mycroft’s teeth and fangs on edge, but the soft chuckling by the man at his side helped to lessen his frustration with his demonic brother.

      “At least life’s never boring, right, Mycroft?”

      “That is surely the truth.  May I ask if you are also blessed with an escaped denizen of hell in your life?”

No… no no no no, don’t lose your glorious smile, Gregory.  Its absence creates a hole into which the joy of this world spirals quickly, leaving nothing but misery in its wake.

      “No.  No brothers or sisters.”

      “Good.  There is quite enough of your deficient genetic material sullying the world.”

Sometimes it was fortuitous that Sherlock’s bodyweight approximated that of a blade of grass because he fell over as easily as one when given only the lightest of shoves.

      “I shall pursue all possible legal actions!”

      “That shall not get you very far, brother, as you well know.  Gregory, I do hope you do not take Sherlock’s imprecations to heart.  Though he was raised most properly, the lessons of his rearing rolled off of him much like rain off a steeply-pitched roof.”

Yes!  Sound your laughter through the darkness and make my heart sing in harmony!  Oh dear… that sounded rather smitten.  Was it _possible_ for him to be smitten?  He was very much called his father’s son and Father had never evinced even the slightest hint of giddy besottedness.  Though, Mummy did not appear at all unhappy with their marriage.  And he and Sherlock _were_ banned quite definitively from the master bedroom once their parents retired for the morning…

      “Well, this is more entertainment than I expected tonight.  Thought I’d read a little then get what uncomfortable sleep I could before moving on in the morning.”

Moving on… were there any two words more distasteful?

      “And, may I ask, what is your destination?”

      “I don’t know.  I’m going to see if I can find work in the village here, but if not, I’ll move on to the next.”

      “I am quite certain there are stalls in need of mucking and chamberpots aplenty that require emptying.  You should easily find employment for your level of ability.”

      “If it pays enough to eat and at least gives me a stable to sleep in, that’s fine.  Nothing wrong with good honest work, Sherlock, no matter how it smells.”

      “He is insane!  We must flee before his insanity takes a violent turn and my life is endangered.  Quickly, Mycroft.  Position yourself in a protective pose so that I am shielded from his psychosis!”

      “Sherlock, do calm yourself.  I rather think that if Gregory decided to perpetrate a violent act, he would choose a victim who offered some degree of challenge.  Men of character generally do.”

Yes, that _was_ a compliment.  Thank you very much, kind sir, for sitting a little straighter in acknowledgement.

      “And, I believe we can offer a more agreeable accommodation than a stable.  I admit I lack knowledge as to the employment situation in the nearby hamlet, however, there is no reason for you to suffer the rocky earth as your bed while you explore your options.  If you are interested, that is.”

Mycroft had two set of curious eyes staring at him and decided action was called for.  Crooking a finger to get those eyes to follow, Mycroft rose and started walking, happy that their new friend had made camp in this particular location, since the walk to their intended endpoint wasn’t a long one.  And he was even _happier_ that their new friend’s eyes grew as wide as his smile.

      “A cottage!”

      “Why was I not informed of this structure!  I have requested detached laboratory space for ages!”

      “And have been denied for reasons too numerous to state at this time.”

      “Piffle.  I do not want it anyway.  It barely merits the term ‘hovel’ and my experiments are far too important to be conducted in this ramshackle hut.”

      “However, brother dear, it does offer a traveler sufficient protection, I believe, from the elements.  Come inside.”

Mycroft crossed his fingers and pushed open the door, motioning the other two to enter and following once they were inside.

      “The former resident has long since moved away and it has remained uninhabited ever since.  I believe its reputation as a witch’s house has dissuaded anyone from wanting to sleep under its roof.”

Sherlock immediately began hunting for any objects or potions that may have been left behind and Mycroft let his grin spread, both at his brother’s antics and the fact that the intoxicating Gregory did not seem put off by the dwelling’s history.  In fact, he seemed intrigued…

      “A witch lived here?”

      “Several, through time, I believe it was handed down from witch to apprentice, though the final occupant decided to practice her craft in a more consistently warm climate.  I would have to ask Father for the details.”

Oh dear… that was not necessarily the correct thing to say as it opened the door for…

      “Your father?  Mycroft… do you own this land?”

A fact he had hoped to conceal at least until such time as he was certain his status would not impact the growing rapport he was hopefully developing with his new acquaintance.

      “My parents own this property, yes.  Though I do have several adjacent parcels of land deeded directly to me, should I care to use them at any point.”

      “WHAT!  How can you… the world is in anarchy and I am surrounded by chaos!”

Sherlock’s cobweb-covered head poked out of a cupboard and both older boys laughed at his fiercely agitated expression.

      “It’s just not a good night for you, is it Sherlock?”

      “Do not speak to me, transient.  It is a gross violation of the social order.”

      “Yes, sir.  I’ll try to be more humble and grovely for you, sir.”

      “See that you do.”

      “Gregory… do not encourage him.  It is truly the last thing he needs in this life.”

Though, do by all means, encourage _me_ with your heartening lack of… groveling… at my revelation.

      “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with a little encouragement, especially for the young ones.  So… you own all of this…  I suspected you weren’t on your own like me, what with those nice clothes, but I didn’t expect… ok, I suppose what I really should be doing is apologizing for trespassing.  I was told this was a fairly safe route to walk if you were alone.  Not likely to run into any surprises that were after your money or your life.”

Something Father took pains to maintain, though not necessarily to advertise.  It was good to hear the word had spread, though, to those who could make good use of it.

      “You may proffer a tribute for your squatting and save your apology since forgiveness shall not be forthcoming.”

      “I do believe there is a cellar beneath this structure, Sherlock.”

And, in an instant, Sherlock was pulling up the tattered rug, looking for a ring to the trap door, which he found and was down the rickety stairs faster than the speed of light.

      “And as for you, Gregory, Sherlock is partially correct.  There is no need for apology.  We are happy to provide sanctuary for those in need of a place to rest and it is my pleasure to offer you something more comfortable than the unforgiving ground.  Your bedroll should fit well on what remains of the bed and the fireplace does not appear to be in disrepair, so should likely host a fire quite nicely.  I hope you are willing to make use of this domicile, Gregory.  I am certain it would appreciate a resident again.”

Mycroft watched as Lestrade looked around the space and hoped beyond hope the jewel of a man would take his offer.  An abode more substantial than a patch of dirt could, perhaps, lead to a lingering in the area and wouldn’t that be a very pleasant happenstance.

      “I can’t pay you anything right now, but if I can find some work…”

      “This dwelling has stood undisturbed for quite some time and Father has seen no income from it, likely, ever.  Witches are not known for their willingness to either pay rent or taxes.  And I am most certain this is a temporary arrangement until you find your fortune and acquire your own, more substantial, residence.”

Please accept please accept please accept please accept please accept…

      “Alright, then.  Thank you.  Really, thank you.  It’s been awhile since I’ve had a roof over my head and… yeah, this is incredibly kind of you.”

      “You are very welcome.  Truly, it is my privilege to be of assistance.  Shall we retrieve your belongings?”

      “Great!  I can’t wait to get settled in!”

      “Sherlock?  We are leaving for the moment and your presence is required.”

      “I have found a tunnel!”

      “Oh dear… it might be a bit difficult to extract him, now.”

      “Think he’ll get into trouble if we leave him alone?”

      “Undoubtedly.”

      “Think he’ll get into less if he comes with us?”

      “You make a very credible point.  Sherlock!  We shall return soon.  Please do nothing to reduce Gregory’s new residence to rubble in our absence.”

      “I have no power over the forces of Fate!”

      “I believe we should make haste.”

      “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

__________

The cottage was still standing when the older boys returned, though Sherlock looked to have turned into some form of tunneling vole.

      “I demand a new outfit immediately!”

      “It was you, Sherlock, who chose to, apparently, roll in the dirt like contented canine.”

      “Knowledge does not flinch in the face of grime!”

      “Then it can wear its reward until such time as we can tend to your bathing.  Gregory, I believe it is time for us to depart, lest my brother begin tearing apart the walls for hidden sigils and traces of black magic.”

      “And you two probably need to get a little sleep!  It’s really late and I’m sorry you had to stay awake this long just for me.”

Oh yes, there _was_ a certain issue he had not broached at any point in their conversation this evening, wasn’t there… well, now was certainly not the time to raise the subject…

      “Such is not an issue of even minor importance.  Both Sherlock and I are very used to this hour finding us awake.  However, we are rarely engaged in so pleasant a task.  I hope you will find this comfortable… perhaps I shall visit again to see how you are getting along.”

Yes, Sherlock… marvel at the boldness of your brother and the forwardness of his actions.  But do try and retract your eyeballs before they pop completely out of your skull.  Observe Gregory’s reaction and attempt to emulate that instead, though you have not a prayer of mimicking his glorious smile.  Or degree of scorching manliness.

      “I’d… I’d like that.  Anytime, actually.”

      “Then I shall definitely make a point to visit again soon.  Sherlock, are you ready to leave?”

      “No.  I believe there is also attic space and I have yet to investigate it.”

      “Another time.  I am certain our host is ready to call an end to his day it is certainly time for us to return home.  Gregory, I bid you goodnight.  I hope to see you again soon.”

      “I, however, do not.”

      “Goodnight, Mycroft.  And you, too, Sherlock.  I hope to see you soon, too.”

Mycroft smiled at Lestrade, who smiled back and it finally took Sherlock pulling his brother out of the cottage to break their gaze.  Not that Lestrade stopped gazing at the older Holmes brother as he walked away into the night.  One thing was very certain… Mycroft’s backside was just as attractive as his front side.  And he was going to visit again.  Soon.

__________

      “Ugh, could you be any more embarrassing?”

      “I presume I could.  A pair of underpants on my head and an inflated pig’s bladder on a stick to wave about should be quite the thing for it.”

      “And again my stomach rises up to claim my life.  If we do not arrive at home, soon, I shall surely perish!”

      “Then I suggest we take to the air.  Are you prepared for the flight?”

      “Of course!”

      “Very well.  On the way, we may discuss the finer points of landing on less than flat and stable surfaces.”

      “And you shall punctuate your dronings with a suitable demonstration!  The sound of your voice, even in bat form, is stupor-inducing and I shall not be lulled to sleep on the wing, only to plummet into the gullet of one of the fish in the lake!”

A lesson it would be.  Which, most agreeably, would provide more time to reflect upon the majesty of Gregory without interruption by household duties.  As well as build more dream fodder for when the sun finally rose and he took to his bed…


	2. Chapter 2

An hour of landing practice for the smaller bat and an hour of tightly-reined amusement for the larger brought ended in the brothers’ arrival home.

      “That was abominable!  You are the worst instructor in the history of… everything!”

      “Yet you can now boast a very robust ability to manage any variety of surfaces on which to affect a landing and subsequent launch.  Of course, you could have asked Father to instruct you in the appropriate techniques…”

      “He is even more tedious than you!  We would first spend hours with diagrams and some form of pantomiming before we saw even the slightest second in the air!”

      “Then be thankful I am not given to an appreciable amount of pantomime.  Now, your violin lesson shall begin soon.  I shall inform Father that Gregory will be making use of the cottage and join you afterwards.”

      “You are going to reveal him?”

      “I would rather notify Father of his presence than have a wayward wood nymph pass along the information, embellished with any matter of exaggeration that might provoke Father’s ire.”

      “So what if that transpired?  The entertainment value of Father chasing the vagrant through the woods is incalculable!”

And Mycroft had no doubt his brother would have prepared the woods with a plethora of traps and surprises to enhance the entertainment value of the event.

      “I am quite certain Gregory would not appreciate the exercise and Father certainly would not appreciate the wasting of his time.”

      “I think Father _would_ enjoy using his time for something other than tiresome meetings with the odiferous humans, his long-winded and cripplingly-ancient vampire acquaintances, the doltish puppies who are even more doltish in their human form and the legion of other hangers-on hoping to snatch a speck of gold from Father’s pockets!”

      “We are very fortunate that we have both wealth and land, Sherlock.  Not everyone is so blessed and Father has an obligation to those who have made their home on our properties.”

      “Which is an unendurable situation!  The humans built an entire town on my inheritance!  Squatters have made camp in my garden!”

      “Before even _I_ was born.  And I notice you do not complain about the rents we collect from the so-called squatters.  Further, you have no interest in gardening, so your hysteria is significantly misplaced.”

      “Rents receive my approval.  Renters do not.”

      “Unfortunately, they do go hand in hand, so one must accept both or neither at all.  Now, run along and attend to your lesson.  I will check on you later.  You shall be in your laboratory, I expect, if I am late in returning?”

      “I shall!  I collected many specimens of dust from the cottage and I need to analyze them.”

      “You suspect magical properties?”

      “I am not certain, however, my tests will reveal that fact and then I shall identify their action.”

      “Very well, but please do not use yourself as a test subject, again.  I would rather not have to postpone my slumber to find a suitable practitioner to restore you from mouse size or return your skin to its proper texture.”

      “Those experiments provided vital insight into the working of those spells!  The data was incalculably valuable!”

      “I do not believe Mummy shared your exuberance when you appeared at her cocktail gathering with your body covered in scales and sporting a forked tongue.”

      “I wore formal attire!  She had no cause to issue a chastisement.”

      “She banished you for the night to the kitchens, where you basked by the ovens and cook provided you with unlimited strips of meat to fill your belly until you dozed off into a fattened and satisfied sleep.  Those who continue to believe vampires cannot eat should be left in your presence for an evening to see their delusions well and truly disproved.”

      “All one would need was proof that vampires can be fat, which you supply in abundance.  Verily, your expansive girth is the physical embodiment of our evolutionary connection to the cows.”

Mycroft plucked a small sack of cottage dust out of Sherlock’s pocket and tossed it down the corridor towards the conservatory, prompting his apoplectic brother to chase after it before one of the house spirits stole it to repay Sherlock for some experiment that had inconvenienced their day, which, for a spirit, was fantastically difficult to achieve.

      “We will speak of this, Mycroft!”

      “I shall add that to my agenda.”

For his part, the older Holmes brother sought out his father, very unsurprisingly finding him in the study.

      “Ah, Mycroft.  Did I hear Sherlock’s shrieking?  His music lesson should be starting soon.”

      “That is his current destination, though I have pity for his instructor.  Sherlock is in a most colorful mood tonight.”

      “Please tell me you mean that figuratively.  I have no desire to summon a witch at this hour to again cleanse from him the effects of one of his experiments.”

      “He is in pristine condition, I can assure you.  However, you do broach upon the topic I wished to discuss.”

The older male scrutinized his son, then waved him to take a seat near the desk.

      “And what would that be?”

      “The witch’s cottage on the far side of the lake.  It is once again inhabited.”

      “Really?  I don’t remember anyone asking permission to take up residence.  Then again, witches rarely ask permission for anything.”

      “It is not a witch, Father.”

      “Interesting.  A haunting, then?  There have been a number of spirits moving through the area and I suppose one of them might have chosen…”

      “No, not a haunting.  It is a human.”

      “Ah.  I understand.  I shall dispatch someone to remind them that the property is privately owned and send them on their way.”

      “NO!”

Mycroft’s embarrassment at his outburst matched well with his father’s surprise at his son’s highly uncharacteristic behavior.

      “I assume an explanation will be forthcoming, Mycroft.”

      “Yes, of course.  I do apologize.  But, Gregory did not behave disrespectfully, Father.  I offered him the use of the cottage until such time as he can secure employment and a more suitable residence of his own.”

      “Gregory?”

      “That is his name.”

      “That much I deduced on my own, son.  I was more curious about the fact you know few humans beyond those in this house and none of them, so far as I can remember, are named Gregory.”

      “He… he is a new acquaintance.”

His son’s reluctance to part with information was making the family patriarch _very_ interested in this Gregory person.  And the nearly invisible pinking on his son’s cheeks was making that interest soar.

      “Very well.    Where and when did you make his acquaintance, for I am quite certain this is the first time you have ever mentioned him.”

      “It is irrelevant; I simply wanted to inform…”

      “It is _highly_ relevant and I am anxiously anticipating your tale.”

Intolerable!  Father had no right to pry into the details of his and Gregory’s relationship.  Not that there was a relationship to pry into, per se, but the theoretical aspects of the situation could not be ignored!

      “As you wish.  I met Gregory this evening and learned he was in need of shelter.  The witch’s cottage was vacant and I did not perceive any problem with offering him the use of it.”

Oh, _much_ was being hidden, was it not… dear Mycroft had quite a ways to go before he was as inscrutable as he believed himself to be.

      “I see.  And what did you set as the rent?”

      “I… Gregory _did_ offer to pay once he found employment, however… I did not see a compelling reason to lay upon him that burden.”

      “I consider payment to me for the use of my property to be a _very_ compelling reason.”

Avarice!  That would _not_ stand unaddressed!

      “The witches did not pay!  You allowed them to live off of your largesse and Gregory is a man of worth and quality who deserves the same treatment!”

Oh, the flush of palest rose adorning your face, son… your mother will be highly intrigued by these events…

      “And you met him this evening, you say.  An evening which is only halfway along and for which you spent the first hour engaged in your standard ritual of seeing Sherlock dressed and groomed.”

      “One does not require a fortnight to recognize a masterpiece, be it of art or music or masculinity.”

Mycroft vowed that he would find needle and thread and sew his mouth shut so no further words could ever blurt out and cause his father to smile at him in that particular manner.

      “I believe I understand.  Well, I place a great deal of trust in your judgment and shall take your assessment at face value.  It is a small cottage, however.  Is your… acquaintance… living there alone?”

      “Yes, he appears to have been traveling alone for quite some time, actually.”

Hmmm… for his son to be this interested, the human must be of a comparable age, in a relative sense, and that was not an age when one should be wandering unaccompanied through new territories.  For that alone, he was content to permit use of the cottage.  But that was by far the least important, or _entertaining_ , reason he would offer no objection to the occupancy.

      “Then your decision was a wise one.  Adults traveling alone are often met with adversity, a younger human would be more vulnerable to the ravages of travel.  It is, of course, our duty to protect his welfare while he is within our boundaries and you were right in giving him use of the cottage.  And, as part of that duty, I am certain you are already planning on keeping a watchful eye on his well-being, perhaps, visiting at times, to see how he is getting along.”

      “N…naturally.  It would not do for someone, living unprotected on our land, to meet with a foul end.  The disgrace would be monumental.”

His son was a masterful negotiator and studious academic, but he apparently lacked any appreciable skill in concealing his amorous inclinations.

      “Well stated.   Very well stated.  Now, is there anything further you feel the need to discuss with me?”

      “No, I simply wished to bring this to your attention so you were not taken unaware should the information reach your ears via other means.”

      “Are you certain?  I am most happy to discuss with you any other… issues… you might find pressing.”

His issues were _absolutely_ none of his father’s business.

      “No, there is nothing else at this time.”

      “Alright, then.  Why don’t you take a quick peek at Sherlock’s lesson?  If he as contentious today as you described, a peacekeeper might be necessary.”

      “I shall.  Good evening, Father.”

      “Good evening, son.  Your mother expects you to dine with us, so don’t lose yourself in any… contemplations.”

Mycroft’s glare was not for any specific purpose because he was not entirely certain what he was being teased about, but a display of irritation was warranted, nonetheless.  As was a very rapid exiting of the room.  For his part, Mycroft’s father waited until his son was completely out of the study before bolting through the rear door and racing to find his wife.  Their little Mycroft had his first romantic interest.  This was certainly cause for celebration.  That new donor from the north had a particularly spicy flavor and there should just be enough collected for two large goblets to lift to commemorate their son’s step towards adulthood.  A step they had often worried would ever arrive…

__________

No, he was not spying.  He was merely doing as Father suggested, verifying Gregory’s well-being.  He could have suffered any manner of crisis during the night and swift action might be required to secure his survival.

Mycroft marshaled his energy and faded from view, taking the form of a delicate, unobservable mist, and glided up to the cottage.  From the scent in the air, he knew a fire had burned, which was comforting to learn, but there had been no aroma of a cooked meal, which was not, and as Mycroft peered through a window, he felt an especially sharp cut, noticing again the thinness of Lestrade’s body.  But, a few pieces of fruit were on the small table and both went into a pack that Lestrade hoisted over his shoulder before moving towards the door, causing Mycroft to freeze in place, more out of guilty conscience than a worry about revealing his surveillance.  Watching his new friend close the cottage door and begin whistling as he walked in the direction of the town, Mycroft was left with a decision.  Though he could walk in sunlight for _some_ length of time, that length was greatly reduced if he kept himself in mist form.  But, if he moved in solid form, he would easily be noticed, since the only alternative shape he had mastered was that of a bat, which was not common in daylight and attempting to continue on as himself offered the potential disadvantage of being recognized, therefore spoiling his covert observations.  Further, he was already growing tired.  A small preparatory nap was certainly in order when he undertook another such excursion…

Opting to continue on in flight, Mycroft followed Lestrade to the end of the woods and ventured outward just a bit more to the edge of town, staying carefully hidden to escape detection.  He had to credit Lestrade’s determination… stopping everyone he met and engaging them in conversation, following pointed fingers and taking either assistance or rejection with a large, ingratiating smile.  As Lestrade ventured further into town, however, Mycroft had no choice but to call a halt to his observations and leave for home.  The sun was especially bright, the hour was quite late and holding even this form was becoming a decided struggle.  If he made it back to his own residence without walking part of the distance, he would be quite surprised.  First item on his agenda… feed very well.  This drain of his energy would require attention quickly.  Then sleep.  Sleep until he felt himself again and could present a proper image to the man he was going to visit this evening after the sun went down.

__________

Mycroft had pointedly ignored his parents’ ‘is there anything you want to tell us, son’ smiles last night at dinner and beyond and was determined to do the same tonight.  If that involved hiding in his rooms until he was ready to depart for the cottage, so be it.

      “Your cowardly cowering is lethally off-putting.”

      “Thank you for your unsolicited opinion, Sherlock.”

      “Mummy and Father have nothing planned for the evening, so I fail to understand why you are avoiding them like a goblet of plague-victim’s blood.”

      “I am not avoiding our parents.”

      “You hid in the wardrobe when Father knocked on your door.”

      “I was not hiding.  I was looking for a jacket.”

      “I take it, then, that you are not hoping to slither away to converse with the vagrant.”

      “First, I do not slither.  It shall be some time before I can transform into a serpent.  Second, Gregory is not a vagrant.  Third, I have not said I had plans to visit with him.  Besides… why would it matter if I wore a jacket?”

      “In this heat!  I did notice you made no mention of your species while you wasted time with…”

      “Use his name, please.”

      “I do not remember it.”

      “Gregory.”

      “That sounds like the name of a particularly plodding canine.”

      “Then address him by his surname, Lestrade.”

      “Hmmmm… if I mentally insert an additional ‘s,’ his name would be Less Trade, implying poverty, from several perspectives.  Very well, that will do.”

      “Excellent.  Now, to return to your former tirade…”

      “Yes!  A human would not wear a jacket on such a night and you would arouse suspicion.  Of course, if you plan on informing him of your true nature tonight, then the point is moot.”

Unfortunately, Sherlock did raise a valid point.

      “I have not finalized the timetable for revealing myself to Gregory, so I will take your grudgingly-given advice and attire myself appropriately.”

Mycroft, oddly, despised when Sherlock was not talking, because it meant he was thinking, generally indicating a monstrous headache on his horizon, and the intensity of thought clearly visible in his brother’s expression was immensely worrying.

      “Do you think he will look upon you differently if he knew?”

_Oh_ … that was most unexpected.  And irritatingly perceptive.

      “In truth, I am not certain.  There is still some prejudice against vampires, as you well know.  It is fading and rare, actually, in this region, but I do not know from where Gregory hails and attitudes there may be far different.”

      “I suppose.  But you should not wait long.  I suspect he would not appreciate a sustained deception.”

      “No, you are correct in that and… well, let us see if he even has cause to remain in this area for an appreciable length of time.”

      “True… he might already have been hounded out of the peasant village with torches and pitchforks.”

      “I doubt such has occurred, but if he did not secure employment, then…”

      “Father could hire him.  There is always need for a servant or donor.”

      “I cannot envision Gregory choosing either of those as an option.”

      “I seem to remember him specifically saying that there was nothing wrong with honest work and both of those are appropriately classified as work and Mummy summarily dismisses any individual found to be dishonest.”

Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose to forestall the newly-oncoming headache, but had to admit his brother’s words had some merit.

      “If there is no work available for him in town, I shall mention this as an option, however…”

      “Oh no, now what?”

Something very unappealing.

      “Nothing.  It is nothing.”

      “You do realize that you have already shown your hand.  You should spare yourself my persistence and simply make your confession.”

Mycroft sighed deeply and walked over to take a seat on his bed, Sherlock following and hopping up to sit next to him.

      “Gregory might not object to working in the house, but… I do.”

      “Why?  His back is as strong as anyone else’s, with the possible exception of Emily the blacksmith.”

      “I… it was easy to talk to Gregory, Sherlock, and that is very rare for me.  And please to do not make some comment along the line of ‘with the amount of hot air you push around the house, Father has no need to pay for heat for the help,’ for you know my meaning.”

Which was very much along the lines of what Sherlock was going to say, but decided not to announce that fact.  Or the fact that he _did_ understand his brother’s meaning.

      “I would very much like to explore a friendship with Gregory, but I cannot see that being possible in an employer/employee situation and, as you know, Father does leave much of the day to day workings of the house to me when he and Mummy are otherwise occupied or absent.”

      “Hmmm… you may be correct.  But, do you believe a friendship would be possible if he earned his wage sweeping the streets while you spend your time making an accounting of the day’s profits from Father’s properties and investments, which the mendicant probably spent the day treading?”

      “I will not deny the situation is not without complexity, however… if I do not try, then failure is undeniably assured.”

      “It seems a great deal of effort for something as transitory as friendship, especially with a short-lived human.”

Sherlock saw something flare in his brother’s eyes and felt a niggling suspicion thread through his nerves.

      “Unless, of course, friendship is not necessarily your endgame.”

      “What!  Do not be ridiculous.  I have no idea what you mean.”

But Mycroft’s expression told a very different story and Sherlock cursed his luck that, from their strange behavior last night, Mummy and Father had already deduced the scenario and he was deprived of the blackmail opportunity.

      “I am not surprised.  My intellect far surpasses yours and it must be tortuous to follow my conversation.  Will you be leaving for your rendezvous soon or do I have to suffer more of your presence?”

Mycroft eyed his brother, but Sherlock maintained a disappointingly unreadable expression.

      “I shall, as soon as I choose a more appropriate set of garments.”

      “The peasants prefer lighter colors and fabrics this time of year.”

      “Oh, do they?”

      “And simpler styles.”

      “You have been monitoring their fashion?”

      “Of course!  How else can I blend in with them to secure the materials for my experiments?”

Mycroft knew he would be unable to entirely avoid the traditional talking-to-his-brother need for a strong libation, yet he always lived in hope.

      “Sherlock… please tell me you are not traveling unescorted into town.”

      “I am not traveling unescorted into town.  Yet.”

      “That, at least, is gladdening.  When you decide you wish to make your maiden voyage, do inform me so I might assign someone to go with you, if you find my presence too difficult to suffer.”

      “The purpose of traveling unescorted is to travel _unescorted_.”

      “As you wish.  And I am certain you will enjoy carrying your purchases home with you.  Perhaps you might find some tree branches and old grain sacks to use to fashion some type of sled to facilitate your efforts.”

Confident that his brother’s unparalleled laziness for anything but his actual experiments would ensure he not venture far without accompaniment, Mycroft hopped off the bed and began to examine his available garments for something suitable to wear to his… assignation.  Sherlock remained on the bed and offered pointed, yet surprisingly helpful, criticism until Mycroft felt his garments nicely suited his needs.

With a final assurance that he would return in time to discuss the results of Sherlock’s latest experiment on the effects of the addition of spider venom to demon-summoning potions, Mycroft took his leave for the cottage.  Fortunately, Father had already negotiated the fee rate for Sherlock’s spurious summonings and the demon community unfailingly left detailed receipts.

__________

A fire was burning, which was a good sign.  A shadow moved in the cottage, which was another good sign.  Barring his Gregory having been dispatched by some foul fiend seeking to take the cottage as their own, this visit would not be in vain.  A quick knock at the door and Mycroft was looking into the face that had figured prominently in his recent dreams.

      “Mycroft!  It’s good to see you!  Come in.”

Lestrade stood aside to let Mycroft enter and the young vampire took a quick inventory of the cottage, noticing a few changes that gave him hope the scintillating man at his side might be in residence for some time.

      “Hello, Gregory.  It is good to see you, too.  And how nicely you have added your personal touch to your surroundings.”

A few small trinkets that must have been in Lestrade’s pack were now displayed, the space had been cleaned thoroughly, the furnishings repositioned slightly, and a chair that must have been in the attic or cellar had been brought into the main room, sporting a repaired leg.

      “Thought I might as well put some effort into giving the place a bit of a shine.  It gave me a sound night’s sleep, so it was good to give a little something back.  Here, have a seat.”

Mycroft took the chair Lestrade offered and made note that the ‘bit of a shine’ extended to scrubbing clean the table so it appeared fresh and ready to entertain guests.

      “I am glad to hear it is successfully meeting your needs.  And Father has no issue with your occupancy, so you may set any concerns to rest.”

      “You told him?”

      “Of course.  The news would have reached him at some point and, with Father, an upfront disclosure is generally prudent.  So… you are free to remain here as long as you choose.”

Mycroft hoped his personal desires weren’t as evident in his words as he feared, but Lestrade’s wide smile said his friend didn’t notice.  Or, in the vampire’s wishful thinking, didn’t mind.

      “Really?  That’s fantastic!  Tell him thank you, for me.  And you get a thank you, too, Mycroft.  This is incredibly helpful.”

      “Do I take it today found you meeting with success for your employment venture?”

      “Actually… it did.  The baker needs help a few mornings a week and the tavern owner needed a reliable lad to help with loading barrels and some general maintenance, which will fill the afternoon.  Plus, some of the farms in the area pay for help through harvest time for anyone willing to do just about anything.”

The excitement in Lestrade’s eyes was mesmerizing Mycroft as surely as any love spell and he felt himself smiling as broadly as his tablemate.

      “I am delighted for you, Gregory!  And you seem very pleased with the opportunities you have discovered.”

      “I really am.  I can read and write, you know… and I can do basic arithmetic.  But, I have to admit I hoped the only thing I could find wouldn’t be sitting down all day copying ledgers or something else just as boring.  I like a bit of fresh air in my day.  Giving the body some challenge, too.  And I’m good with my hands, so fixing things or building things… I enjoy that a lot, actually.”

      “Hence my sturdy chair.”

      “Ha!  You noticed that?  I… well, I didn’t really have anywhere for someone to sit if they stopped by for a visit, now did I?”

And by ‘someone,’ Mycroft hoped Lestrade’s shy look meant _him_.

      “Oh, and here.  We can celebrate properly.”

Lestrade jumped up from the table and opened the cupboard, taking out two crude cups and a large bottle.

      “The tavern owner had me fix a couple of steps that were wobbly, sort of a test, and when I passed he gave me a meal and let me take some wine home.  Would you like to join me?”

      “I would be honored.”

Mycroft surreptitiously sniffed at the wine that was poured for any botanicals that did not agree with the vampire constitution and, finding none, took a sip.

      “Very hearty and full-flavored.  I highly approve.”

      “Thanks!  Nothing like a little wine after a long hard day.  Especially if you’ve got a fire going.  I know it’s really too warm for a fire, but I love them… they’re just so beautiful.”

The wistful shadow that crossed his friend’s features that gave Mycroft pause, however, it was far too early in their acquaintance to pry into matters of memory.

      “I agree.  It adds an ambience to a room that is undeniable.  And casts such a fetching glow on the skin of those _in_ the room.”

Mycroft halted the raising of his cup, realizing what a unabashedly forward statement he had made, but the look Lestrade was giving him certainly wasn’t an offended one.  If anything he was experiencing difficulty holding his smile in check.

      “Very true… very, very true.  And now you know where you can always come to have some wine and a crackling fire.  I can’t offer much more than that, but you’re definitely welcome to it.”

This time Mycroft’s stuttered sip was because _he_ was the one trying to camouflage his glee.  An open invitation.  Not couched in vague terms, but stated definitively and boldly.  This was truly an agreeable outcome of his visit!

      “Then I shall happily capitalize on my good fortune.  And I share your enthusiasm for a relaxing end to a trying day.  It is a joyful thing and now I have an additional bolt hole for when I desire to escape the rigors of the household.”

      “Anytime!  What _is_ your day like, anyway?  Not a lot of fixing rickety steps and hefting sacks of grain, I suspect.”

      “No, more towards the end of the spectrum you seek to avoid.  Father’s interests are vast and I assist with certain matters so he may concentrate on those of larger import.  I also take whatever opportunity I can to study and learn more about the world, both for my own enrichment and to better position myself to someday take on a greater role in Father’s activities.  And, of course, I must tend to Sherlock.  That occupies an inordinate amount of time, as you can well imagine.”

      “I bet you’re brilliant at all of it, though.  I can tell, you’ve got a mind that would put anyone else’s to shame; your dad’s lucky to have you to give him a hand.  And I’m sure it _takes_ a remarkable mind to keep Sherlock in line.  He probably spends his day thinking of ways to get into trouble and make you loony.”

There was no better piece of flattery he could be proffered than praise for his mental faculties and Mycroft hoped his preening was not too obvious.

      “You are entirely correct.  There is not a day since his birth that he has not perpetrated some atrocity that has the household staff seeking some form of headache relief.”

      “He’s going to go far with a creative mind like that.”

A statement which struck strongly to Mycroft’s heart, because it was utterly unique in his experience.  Sherlock’s creativity and curiosity was not referenced in positive terms by anyone besides him and their parents and it meant a great deal that Lestrade saw the good in his brother’s talents.

      “That is forever my hope.  I am relieved that you see more in Sherlock than his ridiculous insults and affected hysteria.”

      “Probably shouldn’t tell him though.  He’ll just try harder to be a little bastard.”

Mycroft burst out laughing and Lestrade took the opportunity to add more wine to Mycroft’s cup.  Not that he had any intention of getting his guest drunk, but if it encouraged Mycroft to linger awhile, what was wrong with that?

      “Your intuition is unparalleled, Gregory.  Sherlock would be terribly aggrieved to find his penchant for chaos called into question.”

Mycroft soaked in Lestrade’s own laugh and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the companionship, something that was rare in his life.  Very rare, actually.  The handful of peers he was pleased to invite into his home lived far afield and opportunities to socialize were few.  And no encounter could match the simple pleasure of sitting with Gregory in this small cottage, drinking wine and watching the light from the fire play across the walls.  And he had a standing invitation to visit again.  Would tomorrow night be too soon?

__________

When Mycroft could no longer ignore Lestrade’s attempts to hold back his yawns, he made the agonizing decision to end their evening, but took great comfort in the fact that his companion certainly was as unhappy to see the visit end as was he.

      “Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?  It’s not _that_ late…”

Mycroft decided against pointing out the position of the moon to argue against that statement, mostly because they could actually not _see_ the moon at the moment and Gregory would certainly ask about his assertion.  Humans had no need for an in-bred ability to know the moon’s position, but his people did and it served them very well.

      “Now that you are a wage-earner, your morning begins early, does it not?”

If there was an artist in existence who could properly render the erotic beauty of Lestrade’s pout, Mycroft would commission them immediately to render the image into a portrait that would hang on the wall, directly across from his bed.

      “Yeah, I suppose.”

      “And I shall not be the cause for your dismissal from your new responsibilities.  Besides, we shall surely be repeating this experience… correct?”

      “Oh, that’s guaranteed… I mean… I hope so, yes.”

How delicious it was to know that he was not alone in his enthusiasm to grow their connection.  Mycroft did a little dance in his mind and spun his strong and handsome partner a few times before daring to take an imaginary kiss from his warm, firm lips.

      “Then it shall be so.  I have greatly enjoyed this evening, Gregory, about that I cannot lie, and I am eager to repeat this soon.”

      “Me, too.  Ok, then… well, goodnight, Mycroft.”

      “Goodnight, Gregory.”

A series of additional slightly-stilted farewells followed that became a tad awkward when neither of them moved away to officially end the evening.  Then the awkwardness faded as both began to giggle at their idiocy, which gave Lestrade the opportunity to hold Mycroft’s hand for a moment as he turned his guest and gave him a little shove to set him in motion.  Mycroft waved over his shoulder and sauntered in his most rakish fashion away from the cottage, waiting until he was fully out of sight in the trees to raise to his cheek the hand Lestrade had held and then in front of his nose to catch the scent of both of them on his skin.  It was utterly magical… truly had smelled nothing as glorious.  And he would be able to detect it for such as wonderfully long time…


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft specifically took upon himself the inventorying and curating of the most recent additions to the family’s art collection, book collection, Mummy’s jewels, Sherlock’s potion supplies and whatever else he could think of to prevent his body following it’s natural and powerful desire to race to Lestrade’s cottage the next evening, an action not at all influenced by his mother’s off-hand comment when he returned last night about a romantic interest of from her youth who soured in favor because he appeared too eager and desperate.  That certainly would not do.  Though he was fantastically-eager and notably desperate, those were not the traits he wanted to showcase to his potential paramour.  Appropriately enthusiastic and respectfully desirous… those were far more appealing…

Unlike, say, the banging at his bedroom door.

      “Sherlock… what in the world… oh good heavens…”

Mycroft looked down at his brother, who had been kicking at the door for admittance because he now, apparently, had no arms.

      “I am experiencing a difficulty.”

      “I would concur.  Is this difficulty counted as a success or failure from an experimental perspective?”

      “Hmmm… a bit of both.  I am attempting to reconfigure the invisibility spell I bargained from the wizard father contracted to help rid the east wing of its goblin infestation so that it works on vampires.  I have met with partial success.”

      “Are your arms actually invisible?”

      “Well… no.  They seem to have taken the term vanished rather seriously.”

      “I see.  And what level of spell were you attempting to modify?”

      “Rather… high.”

      “So, one we shall be unlikely to find a practitioner sufficiently skilled to counter.”

      “That possibility does exist, yes.”

Mycroft rubbed his temples and counted to ten.

      “Have you tried transforming?”

      “Do you think I would be here if I had not?”

      “The outcome?”

      “A bat without wings is very much a pathetic creature.”

      “Rolled about a bit, did you?”

      “There is little in creation more useless than bat’s legs.”

      “Very well.  I shall have a coach prepared and we will see if Mrs. Hudson has any ideas for remedying your condition.”

      “Why can she not come here?  Someone might see me!”

      “Firstly, Mrs. Hudson has other customers to serve.  Secondly, I would suspect she would need access to her full arsenal of resources to find a solution to your problem.  Thirdly, it is a show of respect that we visit her for our needs rather than summoning her here to tend to matters and it is always wise to treat witches and their like with respect.”

Sherlock snorted, but, since he had suffered more than one lesson in respect from Mrs. Hudson in his lifetime, failed to rebut his brother’s argument.

      “Fine.  But I shall wear a cloak to disguise my identity.”

      “You would need a gag for that, I suspect.”

      “When I again have arms, you should expect a forceful reprisal.”

      “I shall begin practicing my painful groans at the earliest opportunity.”

__________

There was only a tremendous amount of amusement for Mycroft to take from Sherlock’s extremely dramatic outfit of heavy cloak and cowl and his dedication to keeping himself in the shadows as they rode into town towards Mrs. Hudson’s shop, which was open for business, despite the fact the sun hadn’t risen for the morning.  In fact, as Mycroft thought back, he had _never_ arrived here to find it closed.

      “Are the yokels gathering to witness my shame?”

      “The townsfolk are sensibly in their beds.  Besides, I doubt this particular shame has much value to them.  I am certain few will ever forget your teleportation experiment that landed you in the town center bereft of your clothing.  That was far more embarrassing and delightfully public. ”

      “We were never to speak of that.”

      “Unlike the populace, who found it quite the topic of conversation for some time.  However, that was a number years ago and all has been forgiven, I have no doubt.”

Mycroft descended the coach and helped his brother onto the ground, making no comment at Sherlock’s grand show of verifying their solitude before racing at top speed towards Mrs. Hudson’s door.  And _absolutely_ no mention would be made of the small boy tripping on the hem of his cloak and having to be lifted from the dirt by his long-suffering brother.

      “Oh good, you’re finally here.  I’ve been a bit worried.”

Sherlock and Mycroft shared a look and did nothing to alleviate their confusion.

      “Pardon, Mrs. Hudson?”

      “The eggs have gone off.”

Sherlock’s whispered ‘she has finally gone insane’ went unremarked.

      “Oh… how unfortunate?”

      “Whenever Sherlock’s done something mental, the eggs go bad in my larder.  Don’t worry, I always add that to the bill.”

      “Ah, yes… well, one does not argue with eggs.  Sherlock, prepare to be revealed.”

The young boy pouted as Mycroft pulled off his outerwear and smiled as Mrs. Hudson giggled and walked forward to inspect the damage.

      “Oh, you _have_ done yourself a mischief.  Invisibility, was it?”

      “The spell is obviously faulty.”

      “After _you_ got through with it!  I know this one, you little misery, and it works beautifully.”

      “Not on vampires!  What good is it if I cannot employ it?”

      “You’re going to learn to get misty in a few decades!  That’s as good as being invisible.”

      “No, it certainly is not!  You can’t touch anything!”

      “You mean like right now with your no arms?”

      “Mycroft!  I am being abused by an octogenarian!”

      “Hey!  You watch that, young man.  I am certainly not in my 80’s.”

Though if she was above or below that, Mycroft was not entirely certain.  It was terrifically hard to guess a witch’s age and a dangerous thing to do, regardless…

      “In any case, perhaps we should return to the point of our visit.  Mrs. Hudson, can you do anything for my brother?”

      “Well…”

The older woman slowly walked around Sherlock, giving him a few pokes and prods, rolled his hair between her fingers and spent a moment inspecting the whites of his eyes and bumps on his tongue.

      “I think so.”

      “You molest me and all I receive is tentativeness!”

      “Sherlock… do give Mrs. Hudson and myself a bit of peace and… go examine the poultices or something.”

Sherlock huffed and stalked off to look through the shop’s contents and Mycroft felt an uncharacteristic sense of relief, because ‘looking’ was generally the least of Sherlock’s crimes against Mrs. Hudson’s wares.

      “Mrs. Hudson…”

      “Give me a bit, lad, and I’ll have something that will do the trick.  He did get his hands on a powerful spell this time, though, so it won’t be cheap to fix.”

      “Cost is no matter, Mrs. Hudson.  And thank you.  Are you certain you will not accept Father’s offer of permanent employment?”

      “Absolutely not!  I’d miss all the gossip and goings on around here and that’s the only fun I have in life anymore.  Besides, it’s good for you two to get out of that mausoleum now and then.  Now, you wait here a moment and I’ll see what I can do.  Try to keep Sherlock from licking the mushrooms.”

Which, as Mycroft noticed, was not a jest, but an actual directive and moved quickly to pull his brother’s head away from the basket it was currently lost in.

      “I think my thongue is thwollen.”

      “Mrs. Hudson!”

__________

A half-hour and two herbal lozenges to shrink Sherlock’s tongue to normal size later, Mycroft was counting out coins for the various materials and labor used to return his brother’s arms to his body and Sherlock was standing in a vampire-proof circle of something for which Mrs. Hudson refused to list the ingredients.  This was his hotly-protested penalty for using his newfound arms to stick his hands into a jar of ground centipedes, which warranted its own counting of coins to Mrs. Hudson for coaxing his fingernails to regrow.

      “Well, there we have it.  Anything else I can do for you two today?”

      “No, I think…”

      “Hello, Mrs. Hudson!  Got your delivery!”

Mycroft froze at the voice and slowly turned to see Lestrade standing in the shop doorway, holding a large basket of bread and sporting an even larger smile, which made Mycroft’s knees suddenly go weak.

      “Oh no.  Prepared to be bored to tears, Mrs. Hudson.  Mycroft and your servant will now commence the most tedious, inane of conversations and you will be lucky to survive.”

      “Gregory… you are… here?”

Lestrade’s grin grew even wider and he moved towards Mycroft like a moth drawn to a flame.

      “Mycroft… hi.”

      “Gregory… hello.”

      “It’s… it’s good to see you, Mycroft.”

      “I gladly return the sentiment, Gregory.”

Mrs. Hudson shot a look to Sherlock who threw his hands into the air and rolled his eyes.

      “My bread isn’t going to walk itself over here, young man.”

Mycroft decided in an instant that Lestrade’s sheepish look was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.

      “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson.”

Lestrade carried the bread basket over to the counter and set it down carefully.

      “There’s a good lad.  Now, I take it you two know each other?”

      “Not as well as they would like.”

Mycroft kicked his leg back to silence his brother, hit the magical barrier hemming in the young vampire and swallowed down the yelp of pain as Sherlock let out a loud and villainous laugh.

      “Sherlock, you behave or we’ll see how well you dance when I start tossing garlic cloves at you.”

Sherlock’s laugh morphed into an insulted shriek and Mycroft turned his most placating smile in Lestrade’s direction.

      “He is rather rambunctious today, as you can see.  As for your question, Mrs. Hudson, I met Gregory very recently while enjoying an evening stroll.”

      “Mycroft was brilliant and offered to let me stay in the little cottage on his dad’s property.”

      “And Gregory graciously accepted, making it quite the little home in very short order.

Mrs. Hudson’s eyebrows lifted slightly and she pursed her lips as a few of her other senses studied the two young men more closely.

      “I see.  Well, that was a bit of luck, wasn’t it?  It’s nice that the old place has someone using it again.  Knew the previous resident very well, actually.  Bitter old thing, but good at the craft.  I’ll come round at some point and check it over for anything horrid she left behind.  Don’t want some tree sprite she imprisoned in the lintel getting loose and eating your heart in the middle of the night to work off its annoyance.”

Lestrade paled a little and Sherlock’s affronted squall didn’t help with that.

      “I have already verified the cottage’s safety!”

      “You learn to do a proper invisibility spell and I’ll take what you say a bit more seriously, Sherlock.  Don’t worry about a thing, Greg, I’ll give it a look.  And you can come with me, Mr. Needs to Study Those Books I Gave Him More Carefully.  I’ll teach you a thing or two about finding fairy graffiti on cottages like that.  Disrespectful little buggers love to write all sorts of rude things on people’s property.”

Sherlock’s excited gasp earned him Mrs. Hudson’s foot breaking his confinement circle and he jumped out eagerly, hoping, Mycroft was certain, for an immediate lesson on what the fairy community considered inappropriate comments.

      “Thank you so much, Mrs. Hudson.  Sherlock will be perfectly insufferable now.”

      “I’ll make it up to you.  Why don’t you and Greg…”

Mrs. Hudson glanced out of the window to check the status of dawn.

      “… take my bread out for the birds and I’ll keep Sherlock occupied for awhile.  Greg, remember what I showed you.  Spread it out well so the daft birds don’t spend more time fighting for the bread than they do eating it.”

With a little shooing motion of her hands, Mrs. Hudson hustled the older boys out of the shop, Lestrade taking back his basket and carrying it out the door.

      “Gregory, may I ask what we are doing?”

      “Mrs. Hudson buys the baker’s unsold day-old bread and feeds it to the birds.  She says they trade her news for a meal and it’s a good deal.  Can she… do you think she can really talk to the birds?”

      “I would not be surprised.  I have given up being astonished by what she can do.  The number of Sherlock’s issues she has rectified has been legion.”

      “I’m not surprised he gets up to mischief, energetic boy like that.  I _am_ a little surprised, though… he plays with magic?”

      “Experiments, to use his term for it.  Actually, his work is most inspired and very advanced for his age.  I am exceedingly proud of his dedication and efforts, though I dole out the praise with a miserly hand lest his ego grow even more uncontrollable than it is now.”

      “That’s amazing.  You must have witches in the family.”

Or other species with some facility with magical energies…

      “There is definitely a hint of magic in the sap of the family tree, and Sherlock is very keen to explore that to its fullest.”

      “Maybe he can talk to birds one day, too.”

Highly unlikely, since the local birds considered Sherlock an irredeemable fiend, having attempted to steal eggs from every species in the vicinity to use in his basilisk-creation experiments.  All he won was a wealth of beak wounds and a stern talking-to from Father after _Father_ received a stern talking-to from some of the larger and more somber-countenanced ravens, acting as duly-appointed representatives of the avian community.

      “I tremble to think what Sherlock could do if he had a source of information to cultivate as diverse and far ranging as the birds.”

Listening to Lestrade laugh, Mycroft felt a spark of smugness at his ability to amuse such a robust and vital person.  Who looked positively seductive scattering torn bits of bread onto the ground behind the shop.

      “Probably start his own army.  And how… how have you been, Mycroft?  You… you, ummmm… you look very nice this morning.”

Contrary to popular belief, vampires _did_ have a heartbeat, though, for Mycroft, not at the moment since his heart had stopped completely at Lestrade’s words.  He looked nice?  He looked nice.  The testament to masculine beauty thought he looked _nice_ …

      “Mycroft?  Are you ok?  You seem to be… choking.”

On adoration!

      “M…merely a stray crumb I heinously stole from the birds exacting its revenge.  And thank you, Gregory.  You look very nice, as well.”

An exceptionally useful aspect of vampirism was the ability to see perfectly well no matter how dark, so Mycroft’s eyes were easily able to take in Lestrade’s light flush from his compliment.

      “That’s nice of you to say, but I know I must look a fright.  I’ve already been working for an hour or so.  The baker’s day starts ridiculously early, but I guess he has to get all that bread made for people’s breakfasts.  Which reminds me, what are you doing here at this hour?  It’s not really the time most people do their shopping.”

Yes, there was that to explain, wasn’t there…

      “One of Sherlock’s mishaps, I’m afraid.  For him, time does not really exist and he might take on a research project at any time of the day or night.  This one did not have fortuitous consequences.”

      “So you came to Mrs. Hudson.  That makes sense.  I’ve been told she’s the best.  Baker told me that even the other witches in the area consult her about especially tricky things.”

      “She _is_ quite the talent.  And a friend of Mummy for many years.”

Just how many, however, he could never quite pin his mother down to reveal.

      “That’s good.  You know you always have someone to go to when you get in trouble.  Not that I expect you get into a lot, yourself.  Too smart to do something daft and if it _did_ happen, you’d get yourself out of it with no problem at all, I have no doubt.  Worst come to worst, I’m sure you could just smile and get whatever it was you needed.”

Must not choke!  Not again, he would look feeble!

      “Pshaw, Gregory.  But I do thank you for your confidence.”

And the feeble do not strike while the iron is hot, which he would now demonstrate…

      “Do I take it you have a full day ahead of you?”

      “Hah!  Absolutely!  Once the baker lets me free, I’ve got a few hours out in the fields before I go to the tavern and finish my day there.  It’s nice, you know.  Doing different things and I’m not rubbish at them, so I can feel good about what I’ve done.”

      “I expect you would excel at whatever you tried, actually.  I would ask, though…”

Courage!

      “Would you, perhaps be free this evening to greet a visitor?  I shall be strolling in your vicinity and would enjoy, if you are willing, stopping to pass a collegial hour in conversation.”

Hopefully, not conversation as stilted and over-starched as that!  Good heavens, he must be more charming if he was to successfully woo the entrancing Gregory.  Not that he had committed himself fully to that course of action, of course, because he had yet to determine if he had the _ability_ to commit himself to a proper wooing of such a stellar man, but the possibility existed and must be considered as a matter of honor.  Which made absolutely no sense, but sense was not something about which he cared very much at the moment.

      “That would be great!  Really, I would love to see you tonight.  I shouldn’t be at the tavern late, so we should have a nice bit of time to visit.  Thanks… I’m happy you want to see me…  I mean, I’m happy you’re looking to get out of your house for awhile.”

Lestrade hoped his smile covered the fact that he was the biggest idiot under the sun and if Mycroft didn’t decide he was a buffoon, he’d be very, very lucky.

      “Then that is settled.  I am… I look forward to this evening, Gregory.  Thank you for agreeing.”

      “I’m glad I agreed, too.”

      “Me, as well.”

      “Yeah.”

      “Quite.”

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson listened through the shop window and both wondered if some form of anti-intelligence nexus had developed amongst the scattering of bread crumbs.  Mrs. Hudson, at least, knew what particular condition extreme stupidity was an early symptom of…

      “So… I guess I’d better get back to work.  Hate to get sacked this soon after getting hired.”

      “Yes, that would be most disastrous.  Sherlock and I should find our way home, as well.  Things to do, you know.”

      “I don’t think I can even begin to imagine.  So… I’ll see you tonight.”

      “I eagerly anticipate the time.”

      “Me, too.”

      “That… that is good to know.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily, and rapped on the window, breaking the flow down yet another river of romance-addled nonsense, and waved Lestrade off to go back to work, which he did, after one last knee-weakening smile at Mycroft.  Who stood there watching his vision of loveliness walk away, caressed tenderly by the first fleeting touches of the morning sun.

      “Mycroft!  Get your brother and go home!  I’m not wasting my good sun protectant on keeping this evil thing from burning to a crisp.”

      “I do not crisp! I am not an infant!”

      “You’re close enough!  If you can manage ten minutes in full sun, I’d be surprised.”

      “Then prepare for astonishment!  For I can manage _twelve_ minutes!  Fourteen and a half when there are clouds!”

Determining those particular limits, Mycroft lamented, had already used more than a king’s ransom of Mrs. Hudson’s special burn cream because his brother was too impatient to allow himself to heal naturally while he slept.

      “And it will take longer than that for you to get home.  Go on now, the sun’s coming up fast.  Sherlock, don’t do anything tonight to make Mycroft late for his date.  Mycroft, I want all the details.  Remember, though, if you take a little nibble, don’t forget to heal the punctures.  Greg might not mind then, but he _will_ the next morning because they have a nasty sting to them, no matter how much fun they were to get in the first place.  Believe me, I know.”

It was a little difficult to decide who looked more horrified, Sherlock or Mycroft, so Mrs. Hudson called it a draw and shoved both boys in the direction of their coach.  There wasn’t enough gold in the world to pay her to help teach those two about the intricacies of romance.  But, if the opportunity arose, she might be persuaded to do it for free…

__________

Mycroft dithered and paced and dithered some more and finally received a ‘suggestion’ by his father to go for his evening walk because he was tired of having his own case of nervous anticipation  for whatever it was his _son_ was anticipating.  Taking the suggestion to heart, Mycroft, set out for the cottage, taking strength from the fat, bright moon and nibbling his tiny bat lip in eagerness for his rendezvous.  His first _planned_ rendezvous.   Not that he would dwell on the rather rude way he’d planned things; inviting one’s self to one’s companion’s home was not precisely courteous, but there were no inquisitive parents at Gregory’s cottage and, more importantly, no Sherlock, so the discourtesy was nicely balanced by the opportunity for a genuinely enjoyable interaction.

Landing out of sight of the cottage, Mycroft took a moment after transforming to smooth his hair and straighten his clothes before walking up to the building, stopping when he sensed something was amiss.  The scent was wrong… his Gregory’s aroma was very weak as if his belongings were there, but he, himself, was not.  Peeking in the window, Mycroft found his nose was not deceiving him.  A fire was in the fireplace, but there was no Lestrade to be seen.  Before the young vampire’s heart broke entirely, Mycroft heard the unmistakable sound of laughter in the distance and was very certain he knew the source.

Transforming back into bat form, Mycroft went in search of Lestrade and wondered if he had some form of medical condition as he once again began choking, saved from plummeting to the ground only by a tight grip on the branch of a tree.  Down below, in the lake, was a figure swimming in the moonlit water.  A perfectly sculpted figure.  Strong.  Muscular.  And very, very naked.

Closing his eyes tightly, Mycroft weighed the importance of his Gregory’s privacy versus the need to be vigilant in case the glorious, beautifully-buttocked man met some foul fate that required immediate action on his part and decided upon the former, since the latter was utterly shameful imaginings on his part and completely disrespectful to the person currently inflaming his passions to a degree hitherto unknown to vampire kind.  However, nudity was discernible only by vision and sitting here, listening to the sounds of the water mixed with the laughter and gentle humming as his Gregory swam, as well as catching slight traces of his scent on the wind, was in no manner disrespectful.  Well, perhaps in a _small_ manner, but no more so than watching him through a window as he lovingly tended a garden that they, together had planted to commemorate the natural wonder of their devotion.  Which might be somewhat hasty in terms of fantasy, but Father always touted the benefits of forward-thinking.

So, for some of the most exquisite minutes of his existence, Mycroft clung to the slightly-swaying branch, enjoying all the small signals his non-visual senses were sending him and was almost regretful when he heard feet upon ground as Lestrade concluded his swim.  Not trusting his willpower to _not_ sneak a peek at the fully-exposed delights his Gregory had to offer, Mycroft took to the sky and enjoyed a slow turn around the treetops to give Lestrade time to walk back to the cottage, then landed and made the walk to the door a second time.

      “Mycroft!  Right on time!  Sorry my hair’s wet, but I had an accident at the tavern and I had to bathe before you got here.”

Mycroft hoped Lestrade didn’t hear the cracking wood of the doorframe his hand was wrapped around and tried not to let his panic show on his face.

      “Mycroft!  It’s ok… really!  No need to worry, just a barrel that got away from us that had me and the tavern owner covered in beer when it hit the wall.  Couldn’t greet you smelling like a drunkard, now could I?”

Mycroft released his death grip on the cottage and mentally apologized to the building for his unseemly loss of control.  Though the cottage might view him dimly at the moment, it was clear, however, that he man gazing at him now did not, if the shining, white smile welcoming him inside was to be believed.

      “I appreciate your consideration.  I would surely have believed you had begun our revelry without me and been most put out.”

      “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you.  What fun is revelry if you’re not here to share it?”

Lestrade pulled out a chair for Mycroft to sit and laughed as he put two cups on the table and let Mycroft smell the contents of the jug he took down from the cupboard before pouring it out.

      “Ah… and is this the blood of tonight’s victim?”

      “Actually, it is.  We salvaged what we could from the barrel and I got this to take home.  Good thing about working at a tavern, lots of access to food and drink.”

Mycroft checked the beer as he had the wine and pronounced it safe, taking a sip and smiling at Lestrade over the rim of the cup.

      “It is very palatable, thank you.  Perhaps, next time, I might provide the libations.”

And do notice the audacity of my presumption of another meeting, Gregory.  Know, however, it is not based solely on my own desires, but a marriage of mine and your own, sprinkled liberally with the heartwarming fact that your personal scent changes when I am near and it is now more intoxicating than the spirited beverage we are sipping.

      “Be my guest.  I’d like to know what you enjoy.”

Lestrade may not have intentionally cut sultry eyes at Mycroft when he said that, but the vampire chose to believe he did because… he did.  Those eyes had flashed with a hopeful fire just as surely as his own answered them with their own flame.

      “Then I shall not disappoint you.  For the moment, however, I would hear of your day, if I may.  It seems to have been an adventurous one.”

Lestrade lightly licked his lips and smiled at his guest.  Oh yes, he wouldn’t be disappointed.  Not with that flash of heat he’d seen in Mycroft’s eyes.  Lovely fire warming up those cool pools of blue… nice to know he wasn’t the only one thinking whatever direction the two of them were taking, it was a very good one, indeed…

__________

Mycroft liked beer.  He hadn’t known he liked it, but could state, for the record, that it was delightful in all ways.  It had an appealing color, a rich and robust flavor, it soothed his body, gentled his mind, and when his Gregory licked traces of foam off of his lips, time itself stood still to admire the sensuality of the act.

      “You’ve really met werewolves!  That’s amazing!  I mean… I may have met one at some point and didn’t know it, but I’ve never actually met one proper.  They seem incredibly interesting.”

      “Some are.  Rather like any segment of the population, there are the proverbial bad apples, however, I have found them, on balance, a surprisingly affable and law-abiding people.  Something to do with the pack mentality, perhaps.  It is unfortunate that they encounter such a degree of… misunderstanding… by others or you might have more opportunity to make their acquaintance.”

      “Yeah… that’s rubbish, that is.  A few stories get spread around and that’s all it takes to bring out the pitchforks!  It’s just stupid…”

Mycroft’s mind engaged in a quick debate with itself, the scared ninny part versus the brave, slightly beer-relaxed part and vowed to remember that his beer-relaxed mind would have to be monitored closely for unscrupulous behavior because it was extremely good at mental discourse.

      “So, I take it you do not look at other species unkindly.”

      “Why would I?  They’re people, aren’t they?  Maybe not human people, but they are people, if that makes any sense.  They do everything humans do, like think and have emotions, build families if that’s the sort of thing they want… some are right bastards and some are decent folk, just like you said.  I think you should give people a chance before you make a decision about them, but I know that not everyone feels that way.”

Mycroft’s scared ninny brain was screaming rather furiously now to stop what he was preparing to do, so he took another long sip of beer to drown it out.

      “I am glad to hear that, Gregory, for it coincides very much with my own views.  And… well, there is also a more personal reason.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, let down his fangs and smiled as bravely as he could, using every sense he possessed to assess Lestrade’s response.

      “What?  Mycroft…”

      “Yes?”

      “You… you’re a vampire?”

      “I am.”

      “Really?”

      “I have no reason to lie.”

      “Yeah… I mean no, no you don’t.  A vampire?”

      “Does… does that bother you?”

      “No… I’m just… I’m just bloody surprised.  Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Another sip of be… no, retract your fangs first, you stupid vampire, another sip of beer for bravery and Mycroft soldiered on.

      “I suppose I was trepidatious as to how you would take the news.  I do not know what experiences you may have had with my people and how that might have structured your opinions.”

      “You didn’t trust me?”

      “No, that is not the issue, per se.  That implies a belief that your opinion would be, perhaps, harmful and that was certainly not the case.  It was more I worried you would fear and that… I too greatly enjoy your company, Gregory, and the thought of seeing fear in your eyes was crippling.”

Well, that was slightly more revelatory than he had planned, but Mycroft could not deny the truth of this statement and waited nervously for Lestrade so say something in response.

      “Ok.  Ok ok ok… I can understand that.  Just because you’re attracted to someone, it doesn’t mean you let go of what you’ve learned or believed and… I guess if I think about it, there _are_ a lot of stories about vampires that don’t show you lot in a good light.  But, I don’t believe them, Mycroft.  Not at all… I mean… I guess some of them are probably true, but not the ones about you killing people by draining them dry of blood.  You do drink blood though, right?  I read that in a book as well as hearing it, well… everywhere… so I suspect it’s true since why would someone waste all that time writing about something that wasn’t true?”

Not that Mycroft was quite prepared to answer since his brain hadn’t moved on significantly from ‘just because you’re attracted to someone.’

      “Mycroft?”

      “Oh!  Oh… yes, we do.  It is imperative to our survival, though, killing the donor is in no manner necessary.  _Human_ blood is not even mandatory, though it offers greater nutritional value and is certainly more pleasing to the tongue.”

      “And you can drink beer.”

      “I can, at that.  We do eat, for greater concentrations of certain nutrients and because, quite frankly, we enjoy the taste of a well-prepared meal as much as any human, but can exist for… well, let us say that dying from starvation is not really a concern.”

      “See, I just learned something!  And now that I know who you really are, I can learn all sorts of things.  Like… do people taste different from one another?”

      “Most certainly.  Every individual has a unique flavor and that flavor changes depending on age, diet, health, time of year, emotional state… when Father and Mummy host an especially important function, they audition donors for a full week to choose those best suited for their guests.”

      “AAAAHHH!!!  I forgot about your family!  That means Sherlock’s a vampire, too, right?”

      “Most certainly.  Though I can assure you his more disagreeable traits are not attributable to his vampiric nature.”

      “I’m going to make him loony and tell him his little fangs are cute.  He’ll hate that, won’t he?”

      “Passionately.  Sherlock fancies himself a formidable master of darkness, though he is, in truth, far from wearing that particular mantle at this time.”

      “Yes!  Make the little bugger fret and fume and rustle his hair to make everything worse.  I can’t wait!”

Mycroft joined in the laughter and let himself enjoy the special glow of knowing the object of one’s attention accepts you for who you are and finds you attractive.  That last bit was especially important.  So important, he’d think it again.  _Attractive_ … what a lovely mental sound that made in his mind…

      “His wrath will be delightful to behold.”

Lestrade laughed again, then got a strange look on his face and Mycroft went on high alert.

      “So… you have people around you get your blood from?”

      “Father employs both permanent and temporary donors in the household.  In larger cities, I am told, it is a bustling business and a donor can earn a tidy living or nicely supplement his income from other sources by establishing a network of clients.”

      “Oh… ok.”

      “Gregory… is something wrong?”

      “What?  No, nothing’s wrong.”

      “I disagree.  I would very much like to know so I might address the issue, if possible.”

      “Nah, it’s stupid.”

      “I highly doubt that.  Please, Gregory, do not let our evening be spoiled by a worry that could have been assuaged with a few simple words.”

      “Do I have to?”

      “I think it would be best.”

Lestrade fiddled with his cup and poured more beer before he continued.

      “Fine.  It’s… maybe I got a little thrown by the idea of you… biting… people.”

Mycroft’s heart sank a little, but conceded that to someone unfamiliar with the process, it could be an unsettling thought.

      “I see.  I admit that some might consider the act savage or barbaric, however…”

      “Not that, you clot!  I don’t like the idea of you putting your lips on someone else!”

Both boys avoided each other’s eyes and Lestrade concentrated on drinking his beer, while Mycroft concentrated on gathering his wits, which had scattered like ashes in a stiff breeze.

      “I… I believe I… oh dear, that was… “

      “Look, Mycroft… I’m sorry.  That was wrong of me to say, rude, really.”

      “No… quite the opposite, actually.  And I… I have no objection to your… objection.”

Lestrade lifted his eyes from his cup to meet Mycroft’s, which reminded him greatly of those of a rabbit that had just seen the hawk bearing down on it.

      “You don’t?”

      “No.”

      “Even though I sounded like a ridiculous, jealous twat?”

      “I… rather liked it.”

      “You did?”

      “It had… implications.”

      “Yeah, I guess it did.”

      “I liked them.”

      “Oh.  Good?”

      “I think so, yes.”

      “Ok… then so do I.”

      “And, I should tell you that, though I am perfectly capable of feeding directly upon a person, and must admit that I have and do when called for, it is customary in many households to collect donations and store them for use.”

      “You mean like beer in a barrel?”

      “In a sense.”

      “Doesn’t it go off?”

      “Fortunately, witches have more uses than amending Sherlock’s magical misdeeds.”

      “That makes sense.  So, out of a cup or something?”

      “Or something.  Mummy does prefer crystal for her beverage and blood service.”

Mycroft had no idea what this new look on Lestrade’s face represented, but it wasn’t actually distressing…”

      “Gregory?”

      “Are you going to be upset if I say it’s sort of sexy to think about you lounging in a fine chair, sipping something thick and red out of a beautiful piece of crystal?”

Upset?  Only if staggeringly aroused could be redefined to be synonymous with ‘upset.’

      “I… would be greatly honored, highly flattered and…  titillated.”

      “That’s good, right?”

      “It is.”

      “Well then…”

Lestrade let his most wicked grin stretch wide and leaned back in his chair.

      “… looks like we understand each other.”

They most certainly did and it was taking every ounce of Mycroft’s will to keep him in his seat with the aroma of Lestrade’s desires filling the room.

      “It seems we do.”

      “Alright… I like that.  I don’t have to worry that if I happen to kiss you tonight, you’ll give me a thump on the head.”

      “I… I… I…”

No choking!  For the sake of all that is holy NO CHOKING!

      “… there shall be no thumping.”

Oh, that smile was incredibly, boyishly, wolfishly wicked and Mycroft melted like butter in his chair.  Never before had his fangs been so miserably difficult to control… the scent of lust in the air, the firelight flickering on his Gregory’s skin, the gentle thrum of blood pulsing just under the skin… and that bad, bad man seemed to realize every speck of it.

      “Good.  Then I’ve got something to look forward to before you leave.”

      “You are a devil of a temptation, Gregory.”

      “You enjoy it, though.”

      “No.”

      “Are you lying?”

      “Yes.”

Lestrade and Mycroft giggled and some of the erotic charge dissipated, but stayed as a pleasurable undercurrent while they talked and laughed and learned more about each other.  No matter how tawdry were their thoughts at times, both acknowledged to themselves that the simple act of conversation was something they keenly coveted.  And, to neither’s surprise, it was Mycroft who had to officially put an end to the evening, knowing well how early his Gregory’s mornings were going to begin with his newfound employment.

      “Oh, come on, Mycroft.  You don’t have to go to bed yet and I’m not a bit sleepy.”

Said while vibrating from the effort of holding back the massive yawn that was battering at his jaws, though Mycroft tut-tutted the admittedly valiant effort.

      “Your morning begins soon, Gregory, and I am now very aware what rigors your day bring to you.”

      “Rubbish.”

      “I disagree.  Besides… it is not as if I cannot visit again, as soon as you are free.”

      “Which will be tomorrow night.”

Such a pleased and eager smile… it pained Mycroft to no end to have to insert reality into their personal world.

      “Unfortunately, Father is hosting a meeting that I am required to attend and doubt that I might even find my way here to bid you good day before sunrise.  But… the following night, perhaps?”

      “Perfect!  I’m already looking forward to it.  Come on, then, I’ll see you out.”

Which was a bit silly since it was a very small cottage, but Lestrade wasn’t quite ready to let Mycroft leave and any last few moments were worth the effort to obtain.  Holding the door open, he followed Mycroft outside and drew in a large breath of fresh air before reaching out to take Mycroft’s hand.

      “I think I owe you something.”

Lestrade bit his lip at the trembling he felt in the vampire’s fingers and moved slowly, not to make Mycroft, or himself, any more nervous.  Using his free hand, Lestrade reached upwards, running his fingers across Mycroft’s cheek before leaning in to kiss the lips that had transfixed him from the moment they first met.  And that kiss continued softly and slowly as Mycroft ran a hand up Lestrade’s arm and caressed the length of his throat, marveling at the warmth of the skin he was touching.  Warmth that was filling him in a way he didn’t think a vampire could possibly experience and he was quite content to let himself indulge in that inner light for as long as possible.

When the two finally broke apart, it was another several long moments before they could release themselves from gazing into the other’s eyes and it was only the deep hoot of an owl sounding loudly in a nearby tree that finally broke the spell.

      “That was… ok, that was something special… just like you.”

Lestrade wished he knew how to weave words like a certain someone, because that was not nearly the long, eloquent speech he wanted to make to express just how amazing it felt to kiss Mycroft.  It was like the whole world stood still so he the only thing he could sense was his vampire and the feel of his cool, smooth skin.

      “I… I… I can only offer the same words to you for I cannot think of my own at this moment.”

      “Then we’re lucky this doesn’t require a lot of thinking…”

Another kiss began and each boy allowed himself just a tad more contact than before, savoring the small shocks of pleasure from a wayward finger finding a patch of bare, sensitive skin.  This time when the kiss ended, both Mycroft and Lestrade knew that if they didn’t get to do this again soon, they were going to suffer miserably because the sensations they were sharing were _indescribable_.

      “Night after tomorrow, right Mycroft?”

      “A banshee signaling my demise would not keep me away.”

      “You’ll… you’ll be safe going home, right?”

      “I give you my solemn word.  In any case, only our friend the owl might distress me in my travels, and that is only because I have made an untoward advance on a particularly scrumptious-looking mouse he has spied in a clearing.”

      “Owl?  Oh… no.  You can really turn into a bat?”

It was not a mark of character to preen at being openly stared at with widened, excited eyes, but Mycroft had no trouble being dastardly for the time being.

      “I can.  Would you like to see?”

If Lestrade grinned any wider, Mycroft was certain the moon would be lost in the resulting brilliance.

      “That I would.”

      “Very well.”

Lestrade wasn’t sure what he expected, but he’d assumed some… puff of smoke or something, not a blink and you’d miss it, first there’s Mycroft and then there’s a lovely ginger bat flapping furiously to hover in place.  Laughing at the very obvious effort, Lestrade patted his shoulder and Mycroft immediately lit upon it, folding up his wings and settling comfortably on the slightly-bony shoulder.

      “This is positively amazing.”

      “Thank you, Gregory.”

      “AAAAHHHHH!!!!   You can talk!”

      “It is a handy skill.”

      “I wasn’t expecting that.  I thought you’d squeak a little or something.”

      “Really, Gregory… squeak?”

      “I’m not a woodsman, Mycroft, I don’t know what’s making all the sounds I hear outside at night.  Frogs or bats or pixies or whatnot.  Doesn’t matter though… you’re cute enough without a little squeak making you completely irresistible.”

Mycroft’s glee was such he learned an unfortunate fact, which was that he _could_ squeak if he let his guard sufficiently down to let that glee bubble up through his little bat throat.  Fortunately, his perch _did_ find it irresistible and giggled, Mycroft thought, very endearingly at the sound.

      “Little pert nose, brilliant ears, lovely fur, pretty eyes and those phenomenal wings… my Mycroft’s just stunning no matter what he happens to be.  Even if he squeaks.”

Which Mycroft did, to Lestrade’s great amusement, though the bat would keep quiet about the fact that it was not intentional humor but his insuppressible reaction to the phrase ‘my Mycroft.’

      “Now, be off with you, Mr. Bat.  Stay here any longer and you’ll be coming with me out to the fields for some hay gathering.”

      “Unfortunately, I do not think I would be a satisfactorily-sturdy field hand.  If pressed to my limits, I doubt I can carry more than ten or twenty pieces of hay at one time.”

Mycroft presented one tiny foot to support his argument.

      “You can just sit on my head and give me some encouragement.  I’ll make you a little whip to crack if I start to get lazy.”

      “I do prize my talents as a taskmaster, but I feel my efforts would only serve to distract you from your task.  Harvesting rate is not positively enhanced, I suspect, by giggling from receiving well-intentioned, yet rather non-muscular, chastisements.”

      “You might be right.  And the more I bring in the more I earn, so I’d better go it alone.  I’ll see you soon, though.”

      “That you shall, my dear.”

And with that completely unplanned slip of the tongue, Mycroft gave Lestrade the tiniest of pecks on the cheek and took to the air, making one circle overhead to bathe in the glow of Lestrade’s adoring smile, before turning for home with the soaring of his heart providing as much lift as his wings.  He had been kissed!  And admired!  This was, without question, the most significant night of his life and though he would prefer a series of miniatures commemorating every detail of the evening forever festooning his bedroom walls, an hour or two of writing would have to suffice.  His personal journal was, admittedly, a dry and dusty tome, but tonight… the pages would erupt in unquenchable flames of passion.  Though he would now have to find a better hiding place for it… Sherlock was an unabashed snoop and had the nose of a wolf when tracking a particularly interesting item of prey…


	4. Chapter 4

Though he hadn’t felt particularly intoxicated while at the cottage, the alcohol seemed to be catching up with the small bat and Mycroft learned a wonderfully-useful lesson while flying home – a night of quaffing beer does marvelous things for one’s enjoyment of a simple flight.  You took far more delight in acrobatic maneuvers, for instance, and accepted far less nonsense from arrogant birds and clouds.  Landing while flying very, very fast was also something you suddenly thought was an excellent idea, which it was!  Crashing and rolling for some distance was spectacular fun, especially when you were not particularly capable of feeling a great deal of pain.

As Mycroft transformed back and dusted himself off he noticed two pairs of feet standing near his resting place.

      “Oh… hello.”

Mycroft looked up at his mother and father who seemed to be deciding if they should be glaring or laughing and smiled as placatingly as he could.

      “Hello, Mycroft.  That was a very… inspired… landing.”

      “Ummm… thank you, Father.  It is a lovely night, is it not?”

      “Yes, without question.”

And now, the slightly-tipsy Mycroft noticed the small twitch of his parents’ noses, as the beastly villains took in his scent, in a complete and unforgiveable violation of his privacy.  That he did the same to his Gregory not an hour ago was not at all contradictory to his insult at this egregious violation.  It was then a few moments of unspoken conversation between the older pair, involving a number of raised eyebrows, head shakes and finally an index finger pointed directly at his Father’s heart, accompanied by a repeated stabbing motion that won Mummy Holmes the prize of leaving the tending to of their son to her husband, while she ordered up a little celebratory beer for their own enjoyment later on.  It had been such a long time since she and her husband had indulged in a few good glasses of beer which, as Mycroft had come to learn, was actually better than wine for getting a vampire tidily drunk…

      “Well, son… did you have a good evening?”

      “I… that is…”

      “It is really a yes or no question, Mycroft.”

      “True…”

      “Would you like to stand?”

      “That might be best.”

Mycroft took to his feet and wobbled only slightly before getting his balance.

      “An evening out with friends?”

      “That is not an inaccurate description.”

      “But… maybe a little plural?”

Father was enjoying this.  He would pay dearly for his amusement.  A consultation with his brother, the master of misery, would be required at his earliest opportunity.  Sherlock did say he had a spell he wanted to test that made air in one’s mouth taste like long-spoiled meat…

      “Quantity of participants does not correlate with conviviality of experience.”

      “So, you admit you had a nice time.”

      “I never denied the fact.”

      “You did not admit to it either.”

      “Some things… I believe some things are my own business.”

So, his son had a _very_ good time.  Not that the scent of beer and romance wafting off of him much like a few flagons of spilled perfume wasn’t a substantial clue.  And how cute that he thought he could keep his nice evening all to himself…

      “Good heavens, Mycroft.  I am not going to chide you, if that is your concern.  And I am not Sherlock, so mocking is most certainly out of the question.  Did. You. Have. A. Nice. Time?”

      “Very well, yes.  Yes, I did.”

      “Good.  That’s good, son.  Did you enjoy a few mugs at a tavern?”

Mycroft stared at his father and wondered if Sherlock hadn’t already been practicing his version of experimental magic and replaced their sire with some alternate-dimension version of himself.  One where Father possessed an… affable demeanor.

      “Oh, don’t look at me like I’m insane.  I was young once, you know.”

What happened a thousand years ago, Mycroft thought, had no bearing on anything occurring today and would _not_ be discussed in any manner of detail.

      “And so was your mother.  We used to enjoy sneaking away for an evening with a few mugs of strong ale and, if we were very lucky, a bit of dancing if musicians were in to play.  Then, of course, there was the dancing that happened later.  Without the music.”

Detail!  Was there a reason his father was failing to obey the most basic tenet of parent-child relations and divulging… details.  And horrifying details, at that.

      “Son… you are going a bit green.  Did you overindulge _that_ much?”

      “No!  I simply have no interest and in your and Mummy’s… dalliances.”

      “No need to be jealous, Mycroft.  I suspect your evening was sufficiently pleasant on its own merits.  By any chance… did this involve my new tenant?”

Father’s prurience was gravely off-putting and forgiveness would not be on offer for a very long time.

      “If you must know… I did spend the evening with Gregory.  We had a very pleasant few hours of conversation.”

      “And beer.”

      “He offered and it would have been impolite to refuse.”

      “Most assuredly.  And beer does make for a more… open… conversational environment.”

      “Oh, does it?  I had not noticed.”

Noticed, greatly enjoyed and was anxiously looking forward to again, if the older vampire was reading the signs properly.  And he absolutely was…

      “Then you may take me at my word.  So, you had a relaxing evening, I presume, at the cottage, indulged in a little libation and some stimulating conversation.  Anything else?”

      “Should there be?”

Had he been this stubborn at that age?  Yes… likely so…

      “Oh Mycroft, why are you being so difficult?”

      “I am not being difficult!  You are being intrusive!”

      “I just want to make certain you’re… happy!”

Mycroft glared at his father, but couldn’t think of an appropriately-indignant rejoinder.  Mostly because his indignation was suffering a rather crippling blow.

      “That is all I want, Mycroft, to make certain that you enjoyed yourself and that you’re pleased with this young man.  I do have an idea about what you were doing tonight besides conversation and… I’m thrilled, really… but only as long as you’re _happy_.”

Mycroft squirmed a bit under his father’s scrutiny, but realized there was only one way to crawl out from under the magnifying lens.  And… there was some not insubstantial relief in being able to express in words what tonight had meant to him.

      “I… yes, I am happy.  I very much enjoy spending time with Gregory.  I find that we can converse for hours and I am completely ignorant of the passage of time.  We spent the evening, as you deduced, at the cottage and I never once wished for anything beyond what I found within those walls.  He offers me companionship… perhaps, something more… and I treasure it more than I could ever have predicted.  So yes, I am happy.  You may now stop your incessant snooping into my affairs and concentrate on matters pertaining to… anything else.”

The family patriarch tried to contain his smile, but knew he was doing a poor job by the growing heat of Mycroft’s discomfort, though he didn’t care a whit.  His little boy officially had his first romance brewing and was actually letting it develop, rather than getting flustered by the very unfamiliar emotional aspects and hiding in his room until the whole thing went away and left him alone, which was Mycroft’s preferred method of dealing with matters he wanted to avoid.

      “Then I shall.  But, son… do know that you can come and speak with me at any time if you… have questions.  Or if you simply want to discuss some matter that has you vexed.  Your mother and I are eager to provide you with all of the support that we can for any aspect of your life and this is simply another area for which we will gladly give you our full and undivided attention.  Now, shall we get you inside and find you something filling and steadying to drink?  A nice glass of hearty middle-aged will be just the thing.”

      “Ugh… I do not enjoy middle-aged.  Someone younger, perhaps?”

      “No… this is something for which you must, again, trust my word.  The aftermath of a good night of beer is made far kinder by a solid, middle-aged donor than a younger provider.  And I do believe we are free at week’s end to meet young Gregory.  Kindly inform him that he is invited for... well, I suppose it would be dinner for him… and that we are greatly looking forward to welcoming him into our home.”

      “What!  No!”

      “If I relay that message to your mother, you do know what will be her response, do you not?”

Nothing Mycroft cared to let linger long in his mind lest he lose some very valuable brain material.

      “Nothing good.”

      “To put it mildly.  Do not worry, Mycroft, it is a simple invitation to, as they say, put a face to the name.  We shall not stand as his inquisitors, if that is your concern.”

      “That is only the meagerest of them!”

      “You may scribe a list of the remaining ones and I shall give it all due consideration.”

      “Father, please…”

      “I truly do not understand your upset at your mother and me, Mycroft.  After all… Sherlock will also be present, and he shall create far more discord that we could ever muster.”

Oh yes, Sherlock.  Sherlock at his most infuriating, Mummy and Father at their most inquisitive.  There was nothing else for it…

      “I require a hawthorn stake and a handful of garlic cloves be delivered immediately.”

      “Mycroft, you aren’t allowed you murder your brother.”

      “They are not for him, Father… they are for me.”

      “Oh.  Well, carry on, then.  We shall inform Gregory of your passing when he pays us his visit.  Do you think your new friend would prefer lamb or beef for your funeral dinner?”

      “You are hereby on my list of mortal enemies.”

      “Oh good.  I’m sure Sherlock could use the company.”

__________

Flapping his wings as quickly as he could, Mycroft sped towards the cottage and his meeting with Lestrade.  Trust Sherlock to pick this night to incite the house staff to tender their resignations, owing to a unanimous decision that his turning them all into shrews was out of bounds.  And, as with all previous Sherlock-prompted mass resignations, a lengthy and delicate negotiation was required, ending, as it always did, with a hit to Father’s accounts for salary bonuses and a scheduling of the paid holiday days on which the staff would gleefully spend their newfound fortune.  Now, he was behind schedule and he had certainly lost numerous precious minutes of time with his Gregory.

Landing next to the cottage, Mycroft set down his small package, then transformed, straightened his clothes and picked the bundle off of the ground.  Saying the proper words while turning the package three times clockwise won him the loss of the miniscule parcel and the gain of a bottle of wine that his mother had nonchalantly flicked her fingers towards when she found him prowling the wine cellar before leaving for the evening.  One last check that he hadn’t for gotten something, like his shoes, and Mycroft was knocking on the door.

      “Mycroft!  Yes!  I hoped you were still coming.  Come in!”

The vampire’s excitement at the enthusiasm of the greeting only escalated when he stepped inside and received the welcome kiss Lestrade had been waiting all day to give.

      “Oh yes… just as perfect as I remembered.  And you brought wine!  Really, you are _brilliant_.”

Lestrade took the bottle, led the somewhat pleasure-dazed Mycroft to the table and got the cups for their wine.

      “And how was your day, Mycroft?  Oh!  How did you big meeting turn out?”

An honest interest in his activities… Mycroft found himself very pleased that the events of his day were found interesting by someone other than himself or his father.

      “Last night’s discussions were most successful.  We secured interests in several trade ventures to some rather extraordinary lands that shall secure a wealth of truly interesting goods.  I must admit I took far more satisfaction in this endeavor than others for, say…  cabbage and carrot allotments.”

      “That’s amazing.  It sounds like you had a good time with that and I’m sure you were positively ferocious with the bargaining.”

      “Well… I must admit to a small bit of ferocity, at times.  Once must bare one’s proverbial teeth now and then to secure the most beneficial outcome.”

      “That’s something I would love to see.  You showing everyone just who was the top man in the room.”

Already he was giddy over his Gregory’s satisfaction with his appearance, intelligence and companionability, but now he could add admiration of his business skills to the list and that was unquestionably electrifying.

      “I should, in modesty, concede that title to Father, but I do follow his example very closely.”

      “Just amazing… what sorts of truly interesting good are we talking about?”

Lestrade poured the wine and settled back in his chair to get comfortable for another evening of what he knew would be the type of conversation and entertainment he’d come to treasure in these few short days.  It had been… he didn’t want to think about how long it had been since he’d had nights like these.  And he’d _never_ had any with someone like Mycroft.  Someone who made him feel things that were new and unexpected, as well as filling him with a happiness that made him smile like a loony every time he thought about the person sitting across from him right now.  This was something he never thought he’d find, never thought he could have, but now… now it was getting hard to think about what he’d do if he ever had to live without it…

__________

      “Dear heavens, Gregory.  I had no idea you were so talented.”

      “It’s something to do, you know, when you’re on your own.  Throw stones, toss a knife… see what’s the smallest or furthest thing you can hit.”

      “And now your acumen supplements your income.”

      “Not really, but yeah… I do win the odd wager now and then.  That’s especially helpful when you’re positively famished and don’t have anything in your pocket but dust.”

      “I am utterly intrigued.  You are quite the man of adventure.”

      “Want to see?”

      “I would love to.”

      “Come on, then.  I’ll give you a show.”

Lestrade grinned and got up to take a knife out of his pack, then nodded for Mycroft to follow him outside.

      “What a fantastic night!  I love summer… you stop for the evening, lay on the ground, stare up at the sky and you can relax for hours with the warm earth under your back, cool breezes over your front and fall asleep calm and quiet as a just-fed baby.”

      “You do make the experience sound quite… sensual.”

      “Maybe I’ll show you what it’s like one day.  Nothing says we can’t enjoy our wine out in the open sometimes.  The lake nearby is gorgeous at night and there’s some lovely areas near the shore that would be perfect for a bit of relaxation.”

Mycroft let that image flower in his mind and found it superbly to his liking.

      “I believe we can consider that a certainty for a future activity.  Now, how shall I be astounded?”

      “Pick something.  Anything you’d like.”

      “Very well… that.”

Mycroft pointed to a mark on a tree, then felt a little dim since it was in a patch of pitch darkness and Lestrade had no idea to what he was pointing.  For his second target he chose something the moon actually touched, which was a bit of missing bark on a branch and barely spoke his choice before it was pierced in its center by Lestrade’s knife.

      “Good heavens!  Gregory… that was most impressive.”

Though not as impressive as his companion, who puffed like a partridge at the praise.

      “Thank you for that.  What’s next?  Don’t be afraid to be a bit of a bastard.”

      “Oh… I very much enjoy a challenge.  I choose… this.”

Mycroft walked a short distance away to another tree that had lost a branch and found the scar pierced just as cleanly when Lestrade retrieved his knife and let it fly.

      “Gregory… such skill.”

      “Like that?  Give me another one.”

      “Let me think… ah.  Your next victim.”

Mycroft moved slightly farther away and pointed to a tiny patch of shadow against a tree trunk and clapped with excitement when Lestrade scarcely hesitated before piercing the darkness with his blade.

      “I am agog at your prowess.”

      “Can I have a reward?”

Lestrade sauntered over and Mycroft instinctively opened his arms to receive the warm, lean body and proceeded to fall into another kiss that stoked a fire in his core that flowed through every nerve in his body.

      “Is that sufficient for you, my dear?”

      “Hmmm… for the moment, I suppose.  I’ll probably need another after I gain my next victory.”

      “Then I wish you luck for more reasons than simple encouragement.”

      “Set me up with something, then.  I’m already feeling a little in need of my prize.”

Said with a little peek of his tongue that made Mycroft’s fangs tingle with excitement.

      “A special challenge, then… oh, the very thing.”

Mycroft walked over to a hefty tree and pointed to the tiniest flaw in the bark, making a shameful little hiss of delight as Lestrade grinned wickedly and hurled his knife with blinding speed, embedding it deep in the very spot Mycroft had indicated.

      “Victory is mine!”

      “Bravo, Gregory.  Simply spectacular.”

Lestrade strutted over to retrieve his knife and Mycroft’s inner alarms sounded loudly hearing the quickly bit off curse.

      “Gregory!  What has happened?”

But, in an instant, Mycroft was very aware had happened as the smell was filling the air in the most delicious manner possible.

      “Got careless pulling this out and gave myself a knick.  Nothing to worry about.  So, what’s… Mycroft?”

Mycroft realized he was staring at the bleeding finger and quickly averted his eyes.

      “You… you should tend to that quickly.  An infection is a dreadful thing to suffer.”

Lestrade experienced his own tingle and brought his finger closer to Mycroft, holding it up near Mycroft’s lips and giving it a little wave.

      “Go ahead, Mycroft.  I know you want to.”

      “No… that would be far too presumptuous of me.”

      “Not if I’m offering.  And I am.  You’re curious about what I taste like and I have to say that I am, too.  Go ahead.  You’ve already tasted a little of me, might as well add a bit more to the picture.”

      “Gregory… are you certain?”

      “Mycroft, it’s not a problem.  Go ahead… you’re practically licking your lips.”

No, it was quite beyond that at this point.  Mycroft felt like there was a spell being cast over him just from the intoxicating scent filling his consciousness.  It was like nothing he had ever experienced and when he reached out his tongue to lick away the small red line he felt his entire body respond to the taste that exploded on his tongue.  It was beyond the concept of flavor, it was beyond _any_ description.  Every bit of him seemed to be begging for its own share to savor and his mind could focus on nothing but the sheer pleasure of the dance of sensation across his tongue.

      “Mycroft?”

      “Hmmmm…”

      “ _Mycroft_?”

      “Hmmmmm?...”

It was long moments before Lestrade’s giggling was able to gain a foothold in Mycroft’s awareness and the young vampire realized that he had taken his companion’s finger into his mouth and was continuing to lap at the cut, encouraging other drops to follow their brethren onto Lestrade’s skin for his tasting pleasure.

      “Oh, Gregory… I apologize most profoundly…”

      “Why?  That was brilliant.  You have no _idea_ how amazing that was.  I take it you like the way I taste.”

Mycroft wasn’t certain what was exciting him more at that moment, Lestrade’s highly wicked smile or the lingering taste of the evil man’s blood in his mouth.  And, without question, his dear Gregory was highly aware of all of it.

      “ ‘Like’ is an incredibly insufficient term for what I experienced.  I consider myself a true connoisseur of things sanguineous, Gregory and… I have no words.  I simply have no words.”

And he didn’t.  He had a body that wanted to act on the exhiliration he was feeling, a set of teeth that were positively throbbing to dive into the rivers of ecstasy that lay beneath his companion’s skin, but words… he was absolutely empty for words.

      “Well then… I guess I know what we’ll be doing when you come round again.  After all… I’ve got lots more in me than those few little drops.”

Mycroft actually had to take a step back to keep him from the leap forward he really wanted to take.  He had fed from any number of humans and none had brought out these reactions in him.  Never.  This was utterly unique and… he _wanted_ it.

      “Then I shall gladly arrive peckish at our next meeting.”

      “Promise?”

Oh, the utter blackguard… that smile was absolutely inexcusable… well, he was also a deft hand at interpersonal combat…

      “Hmmm… I am beginning to rethink.”

      “No, you are not.”

      “I am… unless, of course, you can change my mind.”

Lestrade stalked forward with a flame in his eyes that made Mycroft’s breath hitch and took the vampire’s mouth in an deep and forceful kiss, pressing his body close so Mycroft knew, without doubt, that he was not the only one affected by their evening.  Very strongly and rigidly affected…

      “Now, you bastard, what were you saying?”

      “That I look very much forward to our next meeting.”

And, to make that perfectly clear, Mycroft leaned in and gently ran his fangs along the length of Lestrade’s neck, savoring the low moan that filled his ears.

      “When c…can you come back?”

This time it was Mycroft’s tongue that traced the lovely vessels that ran under the skin and he grinned smugly feeling the shudder that raced through Lestrade’s body.

      “I do have business the next few nights, but after that…”

Mycroft’s mind, more drunk with arousal than it had been with beer, suddenly sobered up and he pulled back from Lestrade to stare at him with the look of a child who had been caught sneaking out after bedtime.

      “Mycroft?  What’s wrong?”

      “Oh dear.”

      “Mycroft?”

      “I… I…”

      “MYCROFT!”

      “MummyandFatherwantyoutovisitbyweek’send.”

      What?

      “Ummm… Mummy and Father want you to visit by week’s end.”

      “What!”

      “They want you to dine with us.  Well… breakfast with us, if I am to be accurate.”

      “Me?”

      “They are rather adamant about it.”

      “But why?”

      “They are interested in getting to know you.”

      “Me?”

      “Refusal is not advised, I’m afraid.”

      “Mycroft… I… I don’t know how to breakfast.”

      “You raise your utensil and consume what is upon it.”

      “You know what I mean!”

      “I actually do not.”

      “Mycroft, you see what I’m wearing.  That’s about all I have.  And there’s talking.  Talking!”

      “Which you do exceedingly well.  And have no worries about your attire.  Father and Mummy are not unaware of your traveler’s status and that you have had no time to settle into a more residential lifestyle.”

      “I’ve got two shirts and one pair of trousers!  That are more dirt than cloth!”

      “Gregory…”

      “And look at my hair!  There’s probably a nest of swallows in there somewhere!”

      “ _Gregory_ …”

      “I’ll have you dad’s boot up my arse before I’ve taken three steps through your door!”

      “GREGORY!”

      “WHAT!”

Mycroft kissed his frantic… paramour… into silence and tried not to laugh at his hysteria.

      “You were invited, Gregory.  You were _asked_ to come and with full knowledge of your circumstances.  There is nothing to fear and you may stow away your concerns, for they are unfounded.  Unlike many of our race, Mummy and Father are appreciative of all walks of life and value character far more than wealth.  You will present yourself as a respectable, charming table companion and we shall enjoy a very pleasant meal and bit of conversation.  I promise you, everything will be fine.”

Seeing the nervousness still on Lestrade’s face, Mycroft decided a small compromise might be in order.

      “Would you be more confident if I provided you with a set of garments to wear for the evening?  I am certain I could find for you something that you would find comfortable in both style and fit.”

Mycroft endured a long moment of scrutiny before Lestrade answered.

      “Just to borrow.  Just to wear for the night and nothing fancy.  A plain, clean shirt and trousers.”

      “Nothing more elaborate, I promise you.  Your beauty needs no embellishment.”

Now, Lestrade’s nerves were at war with a surge of shyness and Mycroft simply stood there and gazed at the most delectable man he had ever seen.

      “Well… alright then.  How long will it take to walk to your house?”

Oh dear…

      “Quite awhile, actually.  Never fear, however… I shall collect you.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “I shall arrive and port you in some manner to breakfast.”

      “Mycroft… you are an absolutely stunning little bat, but _little_ is the more important word for this conversation.  You’re not going to be able to carry me.  We established you couldn’t even carry hay!”

      “I was more thinking along the lines of a carriage or even a pair of unburdened horses that we might ride separately.”

      “I thought I heard horses didn’t like vampires.  How can you ride?”

      “Ah… well, there is some truth to that rumor, but it is more that horses are very particular about _which_ vampire they allow to ride them.  However, a deft hand at negotiation can fashion a very favorable employment contract to fill a stable.  Father has a good dozen steeds in his service, though only two will permit Sherlock to ride them and that is only because they have taught him valuable and painful lessons about respect for one’s fellow creatures.”

      “Oh, well that’s another thing learned, then.  Ok… we’re doing this.  _I’m_ doing this.  Your dad can’t have people’s heads lopped off, can he?”

Mycroft laughed and gave Lestrade another kiss.

      “No, but he is perfectly capable of lopping them off on his own.  He has fought in several conflicts over the centuries, mostly, however, because he was bored, and Mummy still bemoans their lack of social life during those times because he was forever having to take a several-day sleep to heal a disembowelment or an amputated arm.  Which, very likely, she had to fly over the battlefield to find after his comrades carried him home.”

This time it was Lestrade laughing and he had to admit to himself that Mycroft’s parents suddenly didn’t sound as formal and disapproving as he’d feared.

      “That’s positively brilliant!  Mycroft, if I have my arm off, will you go back and get it for me so someone can sew it back on?”

      “I shall muster every ounce of my strength and return your limb to you.”

      “My Mycroft’s the best!”

There was no better use of the proprietary ‘my’ in the existence of language, in Mycroft’s less-than-humble opinion.

      “My Gregory deserves no less.”

And there was no better _sight_ in the world, in Mycroft’s opinion, than his Gregory’s shining smile.

      “Now, however, I best take my leave.  I will see you again in three night’s time.”

      “That’s not very long, but… it sounds like an eternity.”

      “Unfortunately, I must agree.  I will be thinking about you, Gregory.”

      “I’ll be thinking about you, too.  Here, have a little more to think about…”

Lestrade quickly gave his finger another prick with his knife and ran it across Mycroft’s lips, sighing softly as Mycroft, in one motion, licked his lips clean and drew in Lestrade’s finger to suck it gently and softly lick the small tear in the skin.

      “Fuck, Mycroft… that feels good…”

No, it felt mind-blindingly good, because his Gregory’s blood was its own source of sexual stimulation and he was beginning to do something while pressed against his companion’s glorious body that would surely give his father cause to lecture him on issues concerning proper conduct with one’s sudden and demanding erection.

      “I… I should go.”

      “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.  But… soon?”

And Mycroft was keenly aware that the word ‘soon’ was not solely referencing a casual visit.

      “Without question, my dear.  Until again I see you…”

Lestrade leaned into the kiss Mycroft laid him and burned the feel of the vampire’s lips into his mind so he could replay it over and over until they were together again.  Then, he took a step back and marveled as Mycroft quickly became the small, ginger-furred version of himself and flew off into the night.  This was insane… he’d known Mycroft for no length of time and already felt for him something he’d never felt for anyone.  Everything fit, he was completely at ease, enjoyed every second they spent together, was so physically attracted that every time he thought about that gorgeous man, his cock filled as fast as his heart.  And Mycroft didn’t care that he was a rootless, scruffy laborer.  All of this was completely unbelievable, but he was _not_ going to say a word against it and accidentally call up some hex to ruin things.  His life had seen enough ruin and this was far too precious to ever risk…


	5. Chapter 5

It was a ridiculous thing… and he was not a ridiculous person.  Not in a thousand years would anyone term him ridiculous, yet here he was climbing the walls with longing to see his Gregory!

      “Mycroft!  Come down from atop Grandmama’s portrait!  You promised to gather morning dew for me and it surely does not form above her wrathful glare.”

AARRGGHH!!  Could he have not a single moment of heart-soothing contemplation in this accursed house!  Sherlock _never_ visited the portraiture hall…

      “Go away, Sherlock.  I require time in solitude.”

      “No.  Your foolish pining for the vagrant shall not impede my research!”

      “Then go and collect the samples yourself.”

      “Impossible!  I have already treated my hands with the potion and they cannot contact the dew until I am standing inside my circle of dried corn cockle!”

How delightful.  His own need to purge the desperation from his bleak and bitter soul cast aside for his brother’s desire to speak to the ghost of the hand-sized spider they had found haunting their latest shipment of spices.  Verily, the life of the older sibling was richly provided with moments of the most divine joy.

      “Very well, but if your spell goes awry, I shall not postpone my rest to ameliorate your situation.”

      “You shall do what it takes to return me to a comfortable condition or my agony will be yours!”

      “Not if you are without limbs or have achieved the density of lead and cannot rise from the floor.”

      “If you behave in a blackguardly manner, I shall inform your intended lust reliever that you are possessed of one of the countless coitally-passed diseases possessed by the peasantry.”

      “You would not dare!”

      “I do dare!”

Mycroft dropped to the ground and snarled at his brother who waved off his anger.

      “You shall do nothing to impair my relationship with Gregory.”

      “Oh, so you are, now, formally admitting to a relationship.  How nauseating”

      “You have no concept of the heights to which bliss can soar when you find a collegial companion.”

      “I hope your wooing words are less insipid than _that_ utterance or you shall surely live forever the life of the celibate.”

      “Your opinion of my oration is unquestionably meaningless to me.”

      “When you are drowning yourself in a sea of both tears and wine at Lestrade’s graveside because you have bored him to death with your unmelodious voice and lethally-dull speeches, do not look to me to drag you back home and offer you comfort!”

      “The likelihood of my assuming that level of succor from you stands precisely at zero.  However, if only to obtain some measure of peace, I will accede to your demands.  How much dew must I collect?”

      “Thoroughly wet the spider-silk cloth in my pocket and return it to me with utmost alacrity.”

Mycroft retrieved the scrap of cloth and sighed loudly as he turned towards door and strode away to satisfy his brother’s research needs.  When he had completed his task and handed the properly-encircled Sherlock his prize, Mycroft considered finally taking to his bed, then had a change of mind.  The day was warm, but the sun was only periodically peeking through the clouds and, since he was not terribly fatigued, crafted a new plan.  One that might keep him from crawling up the walls a second time.

__________

No, Gregory was not at the baker’s shop.  It was terribly difficult to smell anything near that structure besides fresh bread, but there was not a trace of his quarry to be found.  Next, it was a slow trip around the various farms and fields until Mycroft’s little bat nose caught a whiff of the most luscious aroma in existence.  Landing in a tree near the field his Gregory was working, Mycroft found the best possible perch for viewing, while staying out of the periodically-peeking sun’s rays, and settled in to observe.  Which was not at all inappropriate, as he had previously asserted the last time he spied upon… verified the well-being of… his Gregory.

What a breathtaking man… strong, sleek of form and limber in motion.  How skillfully he wielded a scythe, how his lean muscles flexed haughtily as he toiled, how… oh good lord.  His Gregory was now without shirt!  His dear Gregory’s manly chest was on display, as well as that expanse of flesh below his chest that was making his tongue want to slip from between his lips and imagine taking a lick of what his eyes were seeing.  Oh, this was entirely too erotic for anything but his other set of eyes…

Mycroft fluttered to the ground and became his standard form, hiding behind a tree to continue his reconnaissance.  It was painful to watch the beautiful man work so terribly hard, but none could deny that Gregory was the most spectacular specimen of humanity in the field.  And now, with sunlight stroking his skin, the glory was rising to indefinable levels.  Was that… bless his keen vision, for now he was graced with the incomparable gift of watching tiny pearls of moisture beginning to form on those sun-kissed shoulders…

      “Mycroft?”

Oh… mental note for covert observations.  Remain covert and do not allow yourself to be drawn forward from your reconnaissance position by your target’s inestimable sensuality.

      “Oh… yes.  Hello, Gregory.  I… I hope I find you well.”

Lestrade’s confusion cleared quickly and was replaced by an inner glee that his vampire had sought him out.  Then the confusion was solidly back because his _vampire_ had sought him out in the middle of the morning.  Dashing forward, Lestrade pulled Mycroft back into the shade and gave him a quick inspection for any evidence of bursting into flames.

      “Gregory… I am quite alright, I assure you.”

      “You… you can walk around in the daytime?”

      “For a period of time, yes.  It is an ability that develops with age.  Sherlock can manage only a scant few minutes in the daylight, but I can withstand much longer.  And, as you have instinctively deduced, the less direct sun to which I am exposed, the longer the duration of my freedom.  Though… all of my kind find this time subject to great fatigue, as you do the late hours of the night.”

      “And, again, I learn something.  So… what brings you out this time of morning?  Got business in town?”

Mycroft admired the teasing smile his Gregory was giving him, which poorly masked the ardent hope that the answer would _not_ be business.

      “Actually, no.  Sherlock required my assistance and when I had accomplished my task, I found myself far from desiring sleep.  And, instead, desiring something else.”

Now, it was Mycroft’s turn to present a teasing smile and Lestrade happily took steps to wipe it off his face with a long and tender kiss.

      “Sounds like we were thinking along the same lines.  I’ve had that problem myself every night since I met you.  Laying there, with only one thing on my mind… one tall, gorgeous vampire with the most wicked smile in the world.”

      “Hmmm… it seems terribly repetitive to say so, but that has been my own ailment of late, as well.”

Was it too bold to run a hand over the glistening chest of the man in his arms?  Oddly, Mycroft found himself failing to care and did so slowly, memorizing ever curve, every line, and the feel of his Gregory’s skin beneath his fingers.  Oh, and how quickly did the scent rising from that delicious skin bloom into something particular mouthwatering from that small bit of contact…

      “What you do to me, Mycroft… it’s positively sinful.”

      “Fortunately, I do enjoy a robust measure of sin in my life.”

      “Well, I’ll be happy to supply you with all the opportunity you want to get your share.”

Breaking their embrace for a moment, Lestrade bent and gave his finger a little prick with the tip of his scythe, then held it up for Mycroft to sample, which the vampire did eagerly.

      “Utterly delicious.  Truly, Gregory, this is to me as the finest wine.  No, that is a flawed comparison for there does not exist a wine that approaches the delight of your flavor.”

      “My Mycroft is a romantic.  Can you… well… describe it?”

Mycroft took another lick of Lestrade’s finger and mournfully shook his head.

      “I cannot and I have tried innumerable times.  As I lay in my bed and reflected upon the experience of sharing your blood I could not, in any manner begin to put words to what ran across my tongue.  We have, as a race, a very robust vocabulary for describing what we sample… familiar words such as sweet or rich, words used for texture or weight, depth or complexity, aroma… and none could I assign to you for none were adequate for the task.  Truly, I have not been able to describe it to myself except by comparisons, for which you are always the exemplar against which another specimen is held in judgment.”

If he could do nothing else in his life but give his Gregory a radiant smile such as he was now sporting, Mycroft knew he would be perfectly and utterly content.

      “Definitely a romantic.  Which I very much like, I must admit.  It’s odd to me, though, since all I taste is a strange, metallic, unpleasant flavor that I’m very happy not to ever taste again.”

Mycroft simply could not fathom how his Gregory could describe himself that way; humans were very strange creatures sometimes.

      “Well, I for one am extremely happy for that fact.  If you experienced what I do, I would have lost you long ago, as you would have drained yourself to a dry and brittle husk.”

      “I don’t think that would be a good look for me.”

      “It would certainly make kissing you a more difficult feat.”

Highlighted, now, by the ease with which Mycroft could kiss Lestrade’s deliciously-hydrated lips.

      “Yeah, it’s a lot better this way.  I would _not_ be happy without kisses from my Mycroft.”

To be wanted.  Desired.  Welcomed… this was what the minstrels sang about and to which poets scribed their most impassioned works.

      “And I would not be happy were I not able to enjoy your embrace.”

      “Still busy tonight?”

      “Alas, yes.  Father and I are achieving great success with acquiring a new ship for our fleet and I cannot forsake our negotiations at this critical juncture.”

      “Really?  You have… a fleet of ships?”

      “In that a fleet represents more than one, yes.  We have a handful of smaller vessels for fishing purposes and larger ones for trade endeavors.  Father does prefer to have control of all aspects of trading venture, though we often purchase interests in existing ones, also.”

      “That is absolutely amazing!  And… ok, can I ask something else that’s a little stupid?”

      “Nothing you ask, Gregory, could possibly be considered stupid.”

      “Oh, I think we’ll find something.  Probably exactly when it will cause me the most embarrassment.  Anyway… I’d heard vampires and water didn’t… get along well.”

      “Completely a rumor.  Well, insomuch as it is a truth for anyone.  I, for one, delight in a long bath, however, Sherlock responds as if we were asking him to swim in the mouth of a live volcano.”

      “A bit catlike?”

      “Complete with hisses, howls, claws and teeth.  He has eased his reaction in recent years, however, now that he is frequently doused with the results of notably unappealing experiments.”

      “Now, that’s something I’d like to see.  Especially since I’d wager you lot don’t need a bath often because…”

Lestrade leaned in and took a long sniff of Mycroft’s neck, which made the young vampire’s libido soar to nearly uncontrollable heights.

      “Oh yes.  Vampires don’t stink like the rest of us on a hot day, do they?  My Mycroft smells like a cool, fresh summer’s night, even on a hot and sweaty morning like this one…”

Mycroft’s knees went wobbly and he had to use his companion for support or risk humiliating himself further.  His Gregory noticed his scent!  And commented upon it favorably!  This was simply marvelous!  Incredible, even!  Oh… though the light kisses being lain upon his neck were their own incredible sensation to savor…

      “I shall strive to be as pleasant-smelling as possible for you, my dear.  But, Gregory… I do believe we are under observation.”

Lestrade looked up and waved cheekily at the group of young men grinning at them.

      “Don’t pay them any mind.  Every single one of those bastards has had their turn in the woods or behind the hay bales with their special someone.  Or with their for-the-day someone.  They’re just jealous that I’ve got myself someone who puts all of _their_ someones to shame. “

This time Lestrade made a rude gesture at the other field hands who found it terribly funny and made their own back, complete with a few other gestures Mycroft was thankfully unfamiliar with.

      “I think, my dear, that you might wish to return to work.”

      “Probably.  Though I’ll be giving them a good piece of my mind… after I finish bragging, of course.”

Wanted, desired, welcome and… boast-worthy.  Fate had delivered him the entirety of his dreams in this one incomparable man.

      “I expect no less.  Then I shall depart.  It is time, I suppose, for me to find my bed as I have a vigorous night of negotiations ahead of me.  I shall see you soon… Mummy and Father are looking very forward to your visit tomorrow.”

      “I was hoping they might forget.”

      “Highly unlikely, but I assure you, their enthusiasm is genuine.  Do take care, Gregory.  I shall think of you constantly until we meet again.”

Lestrade gave Mycroft one final kiss then took a deep breath and stooped to pick up his scythe.

      “And I’ll be thinking about you, too.”

The vampire watched as Lestrade turned and walked back towards the field, looking over his shoulder and smiling at Mycroft who made a small show of shooing him back to work.  Taking one final sniff of the air that was still perfumed with his Gregory’s aroma, Mycroft slipped deeper into the woods to transform and begin the flight home.  Such a stellar way to spend an agreeably partially-sunny morning… perhaps they could do it again.  His Gregory had lost an appreciable amount of much-needed sleep for their various rendezvous and, now, he should take his turn pushing his body past it’s rest time.  It was only fair… and one should always be equitable to one’s _special someone_ …

__________

Beginning a flight home, however, was not the same as _completing_ a flight home.  As Mycroft tried to leave the town, a subtle, yet irresistible tug kept nagging at him and it was some moments before he noticed how significantly he had veered off course following the unfamiliar demand.  He was not entirely surprised when he found himself flying towards a particular, and highly familiar, shop…

Landing, then scowling at this interruption of his day, Mycroft stalked inside Mrs. Hudson’s shop and was not pacified in the slightest by her large smile.

      “Mycroft!  To what do I owe this pleasure?”

      “May we dispense with the manipulative pleasantries and get quickly to the reason for my summons?”

      “Summons?  I don’t remember doing that… I might have noticed my tea had gone cloudy and sent out a call for whoever was responsible, but I had _no_ idea who I might catch in my little snare.”

If pure fabrication was worth its weight in gold, Mrs. Hudson would be the wealthiest person Mycroft knew.

      “I find that highly unlikely.  Regardless, I shall apologize for defiling your tea and be on my way.”

      “Not so fast… there’s no rush, is there?”

      “As the sun is moving higher in the sky than I normally prefer, I would say yes, there exists some measure of hurry.”

      “Oh, you have time and I’ve got to make more tea, so you might as well join me.”

Mycroft heaved a massive sigh and dragged himself to the room at the back of the shop where Mrs. Hudson had a small hearth, a table and a kettle.  Oh, and aniseed biscuits, which were very much one of his favorites.  Taking a seat, Mycroft politely stared at the plate of baked goods until Mrs. Hudson pushed them his way.

      “The tea takes a minute, so we can chat in the meantime.  You’re looking well.  Very well, in fact.  Any reason for that?”

      “Quality nutrition and a few minutes with Sherlock nowhere to be found?”

      “Funny.  I mean any _real_ reason you might have a little extra color on your cheeks?”

      “The sun is likely the culprit for that.”

      “Oh, you’re no fun!”

      “I was not aware I was supposed to be entertaining.”

      “I’ll make this easy… how’s Greg?”

Villainous crone…

      “Gregory, I assume, is well.”

      “That was pitiful.  A baby could tell you were hiding something!”

      “Then I shall henceforth avoid infants at all costs.”

      “I saw him this morning, you know.”

      “Did he mention me?  I mean… why did you inquire about his well-being if you already possessed that information?”

      “Because he was as sadly pathetic at lying as you.”

Another thing for which they were well-matched, apparently.  Neither of them could fool Mrs. Hudson, but then… Mycroft didn’t know anyone who could.  Luckily, a fresh biscuit was perfect for soothing the sting of failure.

      “I am not dissembling.  Gregory did not speak of illness, so I assume he is well.”

      “Like you wouldn’t know even if he didn’t say anything.  Your nose still works fine, even if it has recently sniffed out someone _particularly_ interesting to… sniff.”

      “How utterly vulgar.”

      “Not denying it, though, I see.”

      “Since it would avail me nothing, I chose not to waste my breath.  Tea?”

Mrs. Hudson wagged her finger at the hoping-she-doesn’t-notice nervous boy and prepared his tea, as always, perfectly to his taste.

      “There. Tea.  Now, how about some information to settle your bill.”

      “The root vegetable crop looks to be a particularly robust one this year.”

      “Just how badly do you want to spend the rest of the day as a toad?”

About as badly as he had ten years ago when he spent a full day in Mrs. Hudson’s flower patch for the completely foolish reason of… well, perhaps it _was_ his fault that, in chasing Sherlock around the shop for his brother’s higher-than-normal capacity for misbehavior, a cauldron of Mrs. Hudson’s very expensive and difficult to produce fertility elixir had spilled onto the floor, however, an amphibious chastisement was certainly not warranted.  Spending the day with Sherlock, the garden slug, crawling over his body was certainly not the most productive way to spend his time.

      “That idea holds little appeal.”

      “Ok, then tell me about Greg.”

      “He has settled well into the cottage and has found suitable employment to fund his needs.”

      “Boring.”

      “Oh… Sherlock, have you actually achieved invisibility this time?  Speak again to me, dear brother, so I might ascertain your whereabouts.”

      “Funny.  Now, how about some details, like how often do you see him?  Is he a good kisser?  Where does he like to be nibbled?  You know, the important stuff.”

      “MRS. HUDSON!”

      “What?  You can tell me!  There’s nothing I haven’t heard… or done… before, so start talking.”

      “I shall not discuss Gregory and my relationship with you.”

      “Ah ha!  So, you _are_ in a relationship!”

Was this day purely for his personal life to be put on display?

      “Gregory and I… we have enjoyed each other’s company socially, yes.”

      “That makes it sound like you nodded at him over a cup of tea at a garden party!”

      “Why is everyone so concerned with my and Gregory’s affairs?”

      “Affair… that’s a much better word.  _Love_ affair… see, doesn’t that sound nice?”

      “It is my and Gregory’s business.”

      “True… but maybe there are other people who are excited for you and want to be sure you’re as excited as they are.”

      “Ugh…  Father said something of the like.”

      “Not surprising, he has a good idea now and then.  After all, he married your mother.  So unclench your bum and talk to old Mrs. Hudson…”

      “My bum is not… oh, never mind.”

Mycroft took a sip of his tea and realized he was not leaving his chair without satisfying his hostess’s curiosity.

      “If you must know, I have been visiting Gregory of late and we have enjoyed several exceptionally pleasant evenings together at his cottage.”

      “Now we’re getting somewhere.  So, what exactly does _pleasant_ mean?”

      “I did not think that word ranked within the archaic or esoteric lexicons.

      “Don’t be smart… how romantic did it get?”

      “We enjoyed a relaxing beverage and several hours of conversation.”

      “Ok, that’s a start.  Now, get to the good part.  Does he kiss with his eyes open or closed?”

      “You are unconscionably inquisitive.”

      “I’m just trying to find a question you’ll actually answer!”

      “How Gregory and I physically express our passions is a private matter!”

      “So, there _are_ passions and expression _has_ occurred.  Congratulations!  It’s not gone too far, though, or you’d be blushing harder than you are now, but it’s still good progress.   And did I hear a little rumor about him meeting your parents?”

A little rumor… probably wrested cruelly from his Gregory’s trembling form…

      “Mummy and Father asked him to join us for breakfast, nothing more.”

      “I think a unique event like that deserves something a little better than ‘nothing more,’ don’t you?”

      “It is merely a breakfast, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “Did you even try to make that sound convincing or have you just given up hoping to hide things from me?”

      “I am not dissembling… it is my intent that this shall be a simple, collegial meal that does not reek of privilege and… scrutiny.”

The witch patted Mycroft’s hand and smiled sympathetically.  The poor boy… he honestly believed that, despite the significance of the invitation, this could be no different than their normal family meal.  Or maybe he was just hoping so hard, he’d convinced himself that there was actually a chance…

      “Well, I’m sure Greg will appreciate it.  Poor lad could use a good meal; he’s too skinny.”

      “There is nothing wrong with a lean frame.”

      “His frame’s not lean, Mycroft, what’s hanging off of it is.  You get some food into him, do you hear me?”

      “Yes, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “And harvest season doesn’t last forever.  Once it gets cold, he’s going to need something to help make ends meet.  You start asking around to see what’s available.”

Mycroft sighed and helped himself to another biscuit… or three.

      “Gregory’s pride would not appreciate my interference.”

      “Maybe you’re right.  I’ll do it, then.  Or maybe… where he lives and how much he eats won’t be an issue by then.”

      “Kindly do not leer at me.”

      “Why not?  I’ve got good teeth.”

      “Oh, dear heavens…”

      “Here… let me see.”

Mycroft blinked in confusion until he realized Mrs. Hudson was flailing her hand in the direction of his now-emptied teacup.

      “No.”

      “You’ll do it or you’ll be over my knee, Mycroft Holmes.”

With a very petulant scowl, Mycroft slid over his cup, though the urge to wipe up the leaves at the bottom and swallow them was enormous.

      “Hmmmm… Hm…. _Hmmmmmmm_ … well well well….”

       “What?  What do you see?”

      “Oh… nothing.”

      “LIE!”

      Good luck proving it.  Now, why don’t you run along and have a little sleep.  I’m sure you’ve got lots of things to do tonight and you won’t get them done if you’re dragging around like your corpse was just summoned up by a necromancer.”

      “Mrs. Hudson… I have a right to know…”

      “And spoil the surprise?  Where’s the fun in that?  Run along, Mycroft, and tell your mother I said hello.  Oh, and good luck with your ‘nothing more’ breakfast.  Greg’s going to do you proud, just you watch.”

Mycroft couldn’t stop the small, pleased smile creeping over his lips, even though he desperately wanted to know what Mrs. Hudson saw in his tea leaves.  If she saw anything at all, the evil old thing.

      “Of that, I have no doubt.  Gregory is both handsome in appearance and unimpeachable in character.  There is none better to have at one’s side than he.”

Which was slightly more ardent than he had intended, but it was not as if Mrs. Hudson already had her salacious suspicions.

      “No, no there isn’t.  Now, be off with you.  I’ll see you soon.”

      “Oh, was that in my leaves?”

      “Is Sherlock still alive?”

      “Point taken.”

Mycroft snuck a few more biscuits into his pocket and finished them after being pushed out of the shop by a broom applied to his backside.  Was everyone he knew going to stick their noses into his and Gregory’s romance?  Likely, but since he had about exhausted the list of _everyones_ he knew personally, at least for quite some distance, there should be few additional… discussions to suffer.

When the final crumb was consumed, Mycroft again took to the sky and pushed himself as hard as he could to return home quickly.  This was the most draining day he had endured in a very long time, and for a variety of reasons.  Tomorrow, though, he would sleep long and deeply… he must be rested and looking his best when he next saw his Gregory…

__________

Fortunately, Mycroft required little sleep, so he was not entirely debilitated when the evening arrived, seemingly only moments after he laid his head on his pillow.  And tonight would be a busy one.  There would be people to manage, conversations to be had, victories to be snatched and preparations to be made for tomorrow… his Gregory’s visit must proceed perfectly.

Dressed and groomed, Mycroft was not happy to find his brother sitting in his room when he exited his bathroom.

      “Sherlock… why are you here?”

      “Can I not wish to visit with my dearest brother?”

      “Am I supposed to take that at all seriously?”

      “No, but it amused me to say it, nonetheless.”

      “Then we are back to my original question – why are you here?”

      “Because I was forced to do so by Mummy.”

      “Very well.  And why did she force this inconvenience upon me?”

      “Likely because you are insufferable and pedantic; however, in some small manner it might relate to the fact that she and Father are inflicting upon our guests what passes for entertainment in this fortress of tedium and your presence will not be required until later.”

      “Ah.  Thank you.  That is beneficial as I have my own matters to attend to.”

      “Matters?”

      “Which do not concern you.”

      “All matters concern me.”

      “That is astoundingly universal of you.”

      “The truth generally is.  Besides, I am bored and require a diversion.”

      “Then you shall find yourself disappointed as my activities shall surely not provide the amusement you desire.”

      “They rarely do, but I live in hope.”

Sherlock hopped up from his chair and walked over to stand toe to toe with his brother, staring upwards with his most stern glare to meet Mycroft’s equally displeased countenance.

      “Good heavens, Sherlock, you are indubitably diminutive.”

      “I counter that you are unattractively gangly.”

      “Then we find ourselves at an impasse.”

      “It seems so.”

      “Will you now depart?”

      “No.”

Mycroft sighed and picked up his brother, setting him down so the path to the door was clear.

      “Unfair!  Your obesity prevents me from retaliating in kind!”

      “A lesson learned, then.  Now, if you will excuse me…”

      “If your ‘matters’ concern Lestrade, then you would be well-served to include me in them.”

It was foolish to pause.  Ridiculous, even.  But, on the off-chance…

      “May I ask why?”

      “Because you have no knowledge of the unwashed peasantry and I do.”

      “Insulting Gregory does not inspire me to pay heed to your words.”

      “Proof!  He _is_ a peasant and, if he does wash, it is likely in the lake, which is redolent with fish waste and rotting vegetation.  He cleans himself by rubbing his skin with effluvia and you dare say my accurate assessment is an insult.  You own my scorn.”

      “Gregory’s hygiene is exemplary, so you will cease your attempts to disparage him.  In truth, my first item of business is simply to choose for him a set of garments to wear tomorrow evening, and I have already sat through your tutelage on that topic.”

      “That he has not even the clothing to cross our threshold is in no manner surprising.  That he has clothing at all and has not simply adorned himself with some assemblage of animal hides, feathers and dung is the _truly_ surprising thing.”

      “Goodbye, Sherlock.”

      “No.  I demand the chance to bask in Lestrade’s humiliation as you choose for him his begged clothing.”

      “Since he is not present, that is not possible, even were his embarrassment to occur.”

      “It shall occur by-proxy.  Come with me.”

Mycroft shook his head wearily, but followed his brother to his laboratory.

      “Behold!  The vehicle of Lestrade’s dissolution!”

Sherlock pulled the cloth off of an object that sat upon his workbench and Mycroft groaned loudly.  The doll was modeled exceedingly well on his Gregory’s form and features, though the garments were obviously tailored for the dirtiest of miscreants one might find in a town square.

      “You will disassemble that immediately.”

      “I will not!  The crafting of my… influence figure… took countless hours and I will not see that time go to waste!”

      “Sherlock… this is undoubtedly black magic and you are absolutely forbidden from such practice!”

      “It is not!  It is… thundercloud gray, at best!”

      “Do I need to have Mrs. Hudson remove the spells you have placed upon it?”

      “I can remove them.  If I choose to.”

      “Then you _shall_ make that choice.”

      “I see the moving of your lips, yet hear nothing but empty blather.”

Mycroft plucked the doll from the table and carefully held it over his head as his brother frantically tried to steal it back.

      “Give that to me!”

      “Sherlock… I acknowledge that you toiled valiantly for its construction and did an exceptional job with the artistic aspects.  However, this is a dangerous item and I cannot leave Gregory at the hands of those who might happen upon it and not recognize its significance.  I will safeguard it until we can render it harmless.”

      “Pfft!  You are simply hoping to exercise your lustful urges on its tiny and helpless body.”

      “Firstly, that would be catastrophically disgraceful.  Secondly, I far prefer Gregory at his current size and level of participation.”

      “You offer me no entertainment, at all.”

      “And neither shall my miniscule Gregory.  However…”

A crumb of concession was not entirely unwarranted… his brother had worked tremendously hard on his figure and… most likely… would not have used it for anything _truly_ horrific…

      “… if you wish, you may assist me in choosing Gregory’s attire for tomorrow’s breakfast.  Then, provided Father does not yet require my assistance, we might test your ice-formation spell.”

      “Hmmm…. that is not a completely boring suggestion.  Just yesterday, I demanded a cold beverage and was denied!”

      “Our supply of winter ice has been nearly depleted by your greed.  Father does not pay Mrs. Hudson a veritable fortune to enchant the storage room solely for _your_ enjoyment of ice during the summer months.”

      “Then he should have two rooms enchanted, one solely for my needs.  Do you have any idea of how many of my experiments require a chilled environment for proper meshing of the components?  A legion!”

Mycroft cradled tiny Lestrade in the crook of his arm and gave his brother a gentle push to set him in motion towards the door.

      “Then we shall discuss the issue at the appropriate time.  Now, let us tend to our first task of ensuring that Gregory experiences a pleasant breakfast.  And I expect you to do your best to make him feel welcome and comfortable in our home.”

      “How am I to do that?  Shower him with kisses and gaze at him with besottedness in my eyes?  Oh… I forgot, that is your technique.”

Mycroft averted tiny Lestrade’s eyes as he thumped Sherlock on the head, much to the boy’s annoyance.

      “You will simply be civil and not give him reason to feel nervous or ill-fitted to our home.”

      “Tedious.”

      “But crucial, and I expect you to comply.”

      “My payment?”

      “Is my assistance for your ice project not sufficient?”

      “No, that is for your flagrant theft of my property.”

      “Very well.  You have stated that your mortar and pestle are becoming overly worn.  Perhaps we might find for you a new one.”

      “I accept.  However, this does not buy either pleasantries or the withholding of comments concerning his egregious mangling of basic manners.”

      “Since Gregory’s manners are impeccable and pleasantries from you are rare as feathers on a frog, we have an accord.”

With Sherlock pacified for the moment, Mycroft continued to escort his brother to his own bedroom to find a safe resting place for his Gregory’s skillfully-crafted twin, then search for clothes for the full-sized version to wear.  An unassuming, affable breakfast, free from pretensions and airs.  His dear Gregory would feel both welcome and comfortable at their table and see them as no more than a contented family, happy to have an honored guest sharing with them a meal and light-hearted conversation.  It would be a most satisfying experience and… well, he would not openly admit that his hopes were solidly along the lines of his Gregory being a regular guest in their home, but if the man enjoyed _this_ experience, surely he would agree to others.  So, simplicity, hospitality and relaxation… those would be the defining features of their evening together.  And his Gregory would be the brightest light in the room… 


	6. Chapter 6

      “Good heavens, Mummy!  No!”

      “What?”

      “Put away the diamonds.  You have laid out enough to build the foundation of a fortress!”

      “Mycroft… I always wear my diamonds when we have guests.”

      “Gregory is not a guest!”

      “I believe if you check a reference book, you will find he meets the definition quite handily.”

      “No diamonds!”

      “Pfft.”

      “Did you just pfft me?”

      “I did.  Would you like another?”

      “Mummy!”

      “Mycroft, you friend isn’t going to flee in terror from a few stones around my neck.  And on my wrists.   And fingers.  Did I lay out my earrings?”

      “No no no no no!  I want Gregory to be comfortable with his surroundings and how can he do that when he is being blinded by your gem collection!”

Mycroft began putting away the mounds of jewelry and his mother took a moment to laugh silently at her son.  He was absolutely infatuated!  Her prim, serious, mature, slightly snooty son was positively head over heels and it was the most entertaining thing she had ever witnessed.  If anyone was more anxious than him for this evening, it was the people who put him on this earth.

      “Shall I simply arrive at table naked, then, so my gown does not give him the vapors?”

Mycroft gritted his teeth and promised that if he made it through this evening alive, his mother was going to be the recipient of a _very_ stern lecture.

      “I shall not dignify that with an answer.  Kindly wear a dress such as you would wear were we not entertaining.  Better yet, one of the simpler examples you set aside for outdoor strolls with Father.”

Oh, one of those worn specifically _because_ becoming naked was a very simple matter.  Even by chance, Mycroft was treading upon romantic waters… his Father would be so proud!

      “If I promise not to embarrass you in front of your guest, will you kindly tend to your own preparations and cease your molestation of my jewelry?”

      “Do I have your most solemn word?”

      “You do.”

      “Very well.  But do not disappoint me.”

Mycroft stalked out after giving his mother a final, warning glare and turned towards the kitchens, providing his mother the chance to find her husband and make her report.  He would be very eager to try and win the ‘let’s wind up Mycroft so tightly you could use his skin for a drum’ contest and she had no issue giving him some pointers towards victory.

__________

Well, that was the menu finally sorted.  Mycroft had felt his mother’s hand positively besmirching the choice of menu and he had quickly put a stop to that.  They were not receiving a delegation of stone trolls to negotiate a new diamond mine for Mummy’s jewelry hoard!  How many courses did she believe they needed!  His dear Gregory would believe them gluttonous!  Or wasteful, which was far, far worse.  They could not appear the stereotypically boorish and profligate dolts who had more money than taste.  There would be a simple, yet delicious, meal prepared, which would not take hours to consume, then he would take Gregory on a tour of the house… part of the house… because he really did not want to loiter long and increase the opportunity for parental meddling or Sherlock’s… anything.  Now, time to continue with his inspections.  He needed to leave to collect Gregory shortly and everything had to in order before he departed…

__________

      “What in the name of the elements are you wearing?”

      “This old thing?”

      “You are a wearing a crown!”

Mycroft’s father touched his head and confirmed that yes, a crown did reside upon his brow.

      “It’s one of my nicer ones, in honor of your friend.”

      “Take that ridiculous thing off of your head!”

      “Why?  I think it makes me look very… dashing.”

      “You are not a king!”

      “I am.”

      “Grandfather drunkenly declaring this property to be a kingdom does not make you a king!”

      “I think it does, actually.”

      “Take it off!”

      “I wasn’t going to bring the scepter to the table, if that makes you feel better.”

      “You bought that at an auction!”

      “Where was I supposed to get one?  The sky?”

      “ARRGGHHH!!!  You will not take a meal with my Gregory dressed as a character in some ludicrous puppet show!”

 _My_ Gregory… oh how quickly his son had fallen.  And how greatly he had enjoyed the trip.

      “Will a vegetable sack draped over my body make a more appropriate tableau?  I can add a nesting hen as a hat if you feel it an incomplete ensemble.”

      “Can you merely dress in a casual and unassuming manner so that we might enjoy a simple meal without the weight of some spun-gold tunic spilling you off your chair?”

      “Seeing as how I cannot enjoy my meal from the floor, I expect some compromise might be reached.”

      “Father… I do not understand why you are not taking seriously the comfort of your guest.”

      “Mycroft… I do not understand why you are believing that I am hell bent on turning your evening into a debacle.”

      “Because you are doing… crown!  I am most seriously wondering if my father has been replaced by some form of prankster shapeshifter!”

Poor Mycroft… perhaps he _had_ been a tad too somber in the rearing of his son.  Well, this was precisely the opportunity to make up for lost time…

      “I hope not or your mother and I will have to have a very awkward conversation about the lovely time we enjoyed before bed last morning.”

      “NO!  There shall be no… _hint_ … of impropriety in my presence.”

      “Then make yourself not present and focus your attentions on your own concerns.  Did you not say you were going to escort your friend on his journey here?  I see no escorting.  Already you are breaking your word and that stands as a far blacker mark than the wearing of a very handsome crown.”

      “Father, my temper short and my memory is long.”

      “What a happy combination for you.  Run along, Mycroft.  I need to see if the housekeeping staff has any metal polish I might borrow.”

Mycroft wondered if it was possible to pummel someone using the power of one’s mind and, after giving it a gallant try, decided the answer was no and stormed away after a very vigorous finger wagging at his sire.  Setting aside his headwear, the older vampire took a moment to laugh openly at his frazzled son once he had received the full measure of his chastisement.  Yes, he had been terribly remiss in not instilling a greater sense of whimsy in Mycroft, but he’d not suffered for it too horribly.  His son was a stellar young man and would excel in the worlds of business and politics as he took up more and more of his intended responsibilities.  But now, with his romantic side growing, it was the perfect time for him to also grow more of a sense of humor.  Wouldn’t that be a nice topic of conversation for this morning’s breakfast table…

__________

No, he was not waiting outside like an overeager dunce.  He was being considerate, so Mycroft didn’t have to risk a splinter knocking on his door.  Luckily, he’d timed things well and heard hoof beats closing in so the owl in the tree at the clearing’s edge didn’t have to keep wasting its time staring at him in disappointment.

      “Mycroft!  It’s good to see you.”

Mycroft dismounted his horse and quickly walked towards Lestrade to take the kiss for which he had been hungering.

      “I have missed you greatly, Gregory.”

      “I’ve missed you, too.  And see… I’ve made myself pretty for the occasion.”

Lestrade shook his head and Mycroft finally noticed the slight lack of hair.

      “You have tamed your mane.”

      “I asked Mrs. Hudson who might be willing to trade some work for taking a knife to my hair and she did it for me!  A nice job, too, and all I owe is a bit of weeding in her herb garden.”

      “And she did a marvelous job of it.  You have not lost a scintilla of your rugged comeliness, but I can now more readily see your sparkling eyes.”

      “Thanks!  Didn’t want to meet your family looking like an overgrown sheep.  And… you did bring me some clothes, didn’t you?”

      “I have them waiting at home.  I predicted you would prefer to don them afresh than ride with them and worry about undue mussing.”

      “That’s a good idea.  Your brain is almost as amazing as your body.”

Said with a slow run of Lestrade’s hand across Mycroft’s shoulder and neck that made the vampire tremble with pleasure.

      “I shall strive to be as intelligent as possible to satisfy across the widest range of possible acceptability criteria.”

      “Oh, I don’t think you ever have to worry about satisfying me.”

Mycroft bit his lip and wondered how in creation he could have found such an enticing creature.  And what he would have to do to ensure he didn’t lose him.

      “And I return the sentiment to you, my dear.  Now, shall we be on our way?”

      “I’m ready.  Should I… should I say hello to my horse or something?”

      “A pat of greeting should suffice.  Their species deigns to comprehend a few words of other languages, but Father must employ translation spells when a prolonged discussion is required.  Fortunately, as they have very little interest in _our_ interests, that is a rare thing.”

Lestrade nodded and, after a few firm pats, mounted his horse and got a feel for the reins.

      “Nice.  I haven’t ridden for awhile, so it might take me a bit to get the feel of it again.”

      “I have full faith in your ability.  Now, we should leave.  The distance is not a short one, I’m afraid.”

      “Lead on, then.  I’m absolutely famished and I’m certain your family is, too.”

      “Actually we tend to breakfast late, so this timetable fits our schedule nicely.  I… I hope you have a pleasant experience tonight.”

      “It’s going to be great, Mycroft.  Don’t worry about a thing.”

__________

Lestrade was worrying about everything!  He hadn’t fallen off his horse, which had been his first concern, but now, seeing the enormous structure looming ahead, he felt the cold finger of uncertainty trace up his spine.

      “That’s where you live?  It’s a… castle!”

      “I believe that, architecturally, it _is_ classed as such, however, it is a more modest example of the breed.  And Father has been most devoted to updating its features to make it a more modern and agreeable residence.”

Swallowing hard, Lestrade followed Mycroft the remainder of the way and, after passing over the horses to the stable hands, continued to follow along through the vast network of corridors to Mycroft’s bedroom.

      “Mycroft… this is… beyond belief!  It’s fantastic!”

Looking around, Lestrade tried to imagine himself sleeping in a room like this and couldn’t because it was the biggest and most elaborate space he’d ever seen.  From the massive bed to the ornate fireplace and the thick, beautiful rugs on the floor… everything screamed quality and luxury and it had his brain positively boggled.

      “I am happy you find it acceptable.  It is a bit spare, perhaps, but I prefer a less-fussy environment.”

Spare?  Lestrade looked around again and decided that if this is what was considered plain for this house, his worries definitely needed to come back in full force.

      “Good… that’s good.  So do I, actually.  Why clutter up things with a bunch of stuff you don’t need?”

      “Precisely.  Here, your garments are ready for you in the changing room and I shall anxiously await your presentation.”

      “Yeah… I guess that is the next step.  Out in a minute.”

Lestrade walked through the door Mycroft had indicated and felt his first surge of confidence, seeing the modest clothes that had been set aside for him.  Simple, solid gear that he’d be quite comfortable wearing.  Reminded him, actually, of what he used to wear a long time ago…

Stepping out for Mycroft to inspect, Lestrade held his breath and let it out only when he saw Mycroft’s delighted smile.

      “Oh, Gregory.  You are positively stunning.”

Mycroft did his very best to prevent rumpling Lestrade’s new clothing as he celebrated the man’s incomparable beauty, but as the kiss deepened, a small amount of wandering hands _might_ have occurred.

      “So, you think your mum and dad will let me eat at the table and not out with the horses?”

      “They shall be agog at your appearance, as am I.  Shall we?  I am certain the kitchen staff is anxiously awaiting our arrival to begin serving.”

      “Then let’s go.  Wish me luck?”

      “It is not needed, but I will wish it for you, nonetheless.”

Mycroft smiled comfortingly and gave Lestrade one final kiss on the cheek, before taking him by the hand and escorting him to the smaller dining room they used for family meals.

      “Mycroft… this is enormous!”

      “Merely four walls and a table, my dear.  Here, let me draw out your seat.

Always the gentleman, Mycroft pulled out the chair for Lestrade to sit and took the place directly across from him.  It wasn’t a second after his bottom landed in the chair that Sherlock burst into the room and scowled fiercely.

      “Oh no, the transient is here.”

      “Gregory is our guest, Sherlock, so do please treat him accordingly.

Nodding his understanding, Sherlock plucked a small roll from the table and threw it at Lestrade, who caught it one-handed.

      “SHERLOCK!”

      “I was serving our guest, Mycroft.  It is not my concern if you find fault with my hospitality.”

While Mycroft contemplated using his butter knife to saw through his brother’s neck, Lestrade munched his bread and took a better look around the room.  Yes… Mycroft’s room was spare.  Spartan, even, by comparison.  His Mycroft had monkish tendencies if this opulence was the norm for this family.

      “I expect your best behavior, brother.”

      “Your expectations are irrelevant to me.  And, as always, they are set at entirely the wrong rung of the ladder.”

      “Gregory, please accept my preemptory apology for Sherlock’s infantile actions, which shall, obviously, pepper our lovely breakfast most appallingly.”

      “Do not cast aspersions upon me!  I am not a social dull-wit!  That is you.  You are as socially inept as a prisoner escaped after a decade’s incarceration in the cellar of a lunatic asylum.”

Mycroft snatched the book Sherlock was clutching and tossed it across the room, prompting a furious yelping as the young boy dived after it, intentionally colliding with Mycroft’s seat on his way, toppling it backwards and landing Mycroft on the floor.  The ensuing battle raged, taking another chair down, overturning a vase on a sideboard and leaving Lestrade to try and hold down all the crystal stemware that dotted the dining table before they hurled themselves into the fray, as well.  It wasn’t until he was dragging the table runner back into place and saving the bread baskets from certain death that he realized the room was occupied by two additional bodies.

      “Uh… hello?  I’m… I’m Greg.  It’s very nice to meet you?”

Mycroft’s parents quickly assessed the situation and awarded the nervously-smiling Lestrade a bounty of points for staying clear of their children’s nonsense and tending to the far more important task of guarding the food.

      “Hello, Gregory.  We are honored to have you in our tavern.  It is not often we offer entertainment, but the tumblers were in town and we simply cannot resist a spirited performance.”

Both Mycroft and Sherlock froze at the sound of their mother’s voice and broke apart to stare with rapidly growing embarrassment at their parents.

      “Hello, Mummy.  Hello, Father.  Sherlock and I were…”

      “Enacting the mating rituals of wild dogs?”

      “What a positively ghastly statement.”

      “I am far superior to any canine!”

      “I must express doubt for that, Sherlock, as a dog would have already begun seeking forgiveness and you have yet to do so.  One demerit against you, I’m afraid.”

As the Holmes patriarch glowered thunderously to hide his tremendous desire to laugh, the Holmes matriarch took her seat and scared Lestrade to death by patting his hand.

      “I’m afraid this is not an unfamiliar breakfast scene, Gregory.  At least, this time, they are fully clothed and there is no jam involved.”

Lestrade barked out a laugh, though the two heads that sprung up over the edge of the table did not share his mirth.

      “Mummy, do not speak to Gregory.”

      “Should I sing, instead?”

      “Father!”

      “Well, it’s been years, but I believe I still have a respectable light baritone.”

      “Mycroft, save me from our progenitors!”

Sherlock clutched at his brother and Lestrade watched the last of his worry fly away like a bird freed from its cage.

      “Get off of me, Sherlock!”

Mycroft disentangled himself from his brother, righted his chair and did what he could to repair his grooming.  This was a disaster!  All his careful planning, all his thorough and vigorous inspections and now… if he did not end this night an abandoned man, he would be highly surprised!

      “I apologize most profusely, Gregory.  This is not the joyful respite I had hoped to provide for you.”

His most apologetic smile turned towards his Gregory, Mycroft didn’t have to wait long for Lestrade to grin back at him and the relief that flooded his body from that bit of grace was nearly overwhelming.

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mycroft.  This is great!  Who doesn’t want a bit of entertainment while they eat?  Can’t wait for the music to start.”

There was a word… a beautiful, nigh on spiritual word for what Mycroft felt at the moment.  Staring stupidly at his Gregory, Mycroft felt his heart fill with that particular word and he knew this was precisely the person he had dreamed of all his life.

      “A practical turn of mind and an enjoyment of the pleasurable things in life.  Very good, Gregory.  Mycroft’s typical acquaintances rather resemble the sourest of lemons in temperament.”

Sherlock’s laughter at his mother’s indictment earned him a punch under the table and a second war threatened to erupt before a throat clearing from their father refocused both boys, though the silently vowed vengeance against the other at some extremely unexpected time in the future.  As Mycroft smiled again at Lestrade, he subtly sniffed the air and found his final reassurance in his Gregory’s scent, which had lost its own anxious sourness and was returning to its normal, tantalizing aroma. 

      “Thank you, ma’am.  And thank you for inviting me.  You… you have a very nice house.”

      “And polite, as well.  We are happy you chose to join us.  My husband and I have heard nothing but positive things about you, well, not from Sherlock, but that is to be expected.  I do hope you intend to make use of the cottage for quite some time.”

      “Oh… yes.  I do.  And I should thank you for that, too.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a… a reliable place to stay and it’s been very helpful.  There’s enough work for me in town, too, so things are good… no reason to keep moving when things are going your way, right?”

Lestrade’s smiled brightly, though he missed the slight narrowing of Mummy Holmes’s eyes.  Mycroft, however, did not and filed it away for future investigation.

      “Of course not, one should never forsake an opportunity for happiness when it presents itself.”

Another pat on Lestrade’s hand, this one lasting a moment as Mycroft’s mother rested her hand on his, and Mycroft added another item of inquiry to agenda.

      “Now, shall we begin?  I’m certain you are quite hungry after a day’s toil.”

As the serving staff began to bring breakfast to the table, Mycroft felt only a slightly guilty about sitting back and letting his parents steer the conversation.  His Gregory was comporting himself magnificently!  Articulate, intelligent, humorous, mannerly… it was clear his parents were highly impressed, though Mycroft was not entirely pleased with his mother’s continued return to questions about Gregory’s past, which visibly distressed his dearest to answer.  Not that he did answer, precisely, and that was also impressive.  His Gregory could redirect and side-step with an exceedingly skilled hand.  Unfortunately, his mother was not content to leave the subject alone

      “Now, you simply must tell us more about yourself, Gregory.  There is no need to be modest in our home.  Your parents must be very proud of you, leaving so young to seek your fortune in this world.”

      “Mummy… leave Gregory alone.  Your curiosity is most unseemly.”

      “Mycroft, your mother simply wants your young man to have his chance to boast about himself.”

      “There’s really nothing to boast about, sir.  Just doing what I can to earn a living and find somewhere I can make a home.”

      “Well, I do hope you find this particular region offers you what you need to accomplish that.  I am certain that you would be very happy here and there is a wealth of entertainments to amuse your family when they visit to admire your success.”

There was a sharp and alarming change in the air and every vampire in the room went on high alert, though, Mycroft noted, his Gregory noticed not a thing.  That might, however, be attributed to the fact that he appeared ready to bolt from the table.

      “Gregory…”

      “My family is dead, alright.  My parents, my two brothers and sister are all dead.  They burned in a fire when I was eleven.  So, no… they’re not proud of me and they’re never going to visit.”

Mycroft felt his heart break into an uncountable number of pieces and glared fiercely at his mother and father, who looked back apologetically.  Not that he cared.  They had upset his Gregory and he would not let his dearest sit there in discomfort.

      “I do apologize, Gregory.  You were not meant to be subject to an interrogation like a prisoner of war.  Come, let us take a ride, shall we?”

The young vampire made to rise, but Lestrade shook his head and took a calming sip of his water.

      “No, it’s me who should apologize.  I… I just don’t like talking about that.  Too many bad memories.  I’m sorry, I snapped… it was really rude of me and I _am_ sorry.”

Mycroft’s father mentally patted the boy on the back and added sack upon sack of positive notes to his ledger for his gracious handling of a very distressing situation.  Mycroft had certainly found an individual of quality and he and his wife would tread very carefully, so as not to scare him away.

      “No, young man, it is we who are sorry.  My wife and I forget that not everyone’s tale is a happy one to tell and our enjoyment of your company got the better of us.  We shall not touch upon that subject again, so do not fear accepting another invitation to our home.”

Lestrade smiled, but Mycroft saw immediately, it lacked its characteristic brilliance.  Ugly waters had been churned from the depths and those did not settle quickly.

      “Thanks.  I appreciate that.  How about a story about Mycroft, then?  I bet he was the cutest little tyke…”

Both Holmes parents immediately launched into a flurry of stories which made Mycroft both infuriated and smug, since his Gregory found his younger years entertaining and adorable.  And it, again, highlighted his friend’s quick mind.  There was little to request that would more fully dominate the breakfast conversation so the spotlight stayed blessedly off of himself.

By the time the meal was concluded, Mycroft noted that his Gregory’s mood had lifted somewhat and after extracting Sherlock’s most solemn oath not to follow, escorted Lestrade for a tour of the house.  However, he had one matter to settle first when they were away from prying eyes.  Pulling Lestrade into a nook, Mycroft pressed a soft, slow kiss to the lips that had been tempting him all through breakfast and held Lestrade’s body gently against him.

      “You were positively radiant tonight, Gregory and I can assure you my parents were highly impressed by your poise and character.  But…”

      “Mycroft, don’t.”

      “No, I must say this.  I am truly sorry, not only for what their curiosity cost you, but that you had to ever bear such a cost in your lifetime.  My heart aches miserably for what you have suffered and if there was a thing I could do, no matter the cost or effort, I would see that tragedy erased and your own suffering eased.”

Lestrade laid his head on the vampire’s shoulder and took a deep, cleansing breath.

      “I know you would, love.  I really do and I a more grateful for that than you can possibly imagine.  It was…it was a hard time and I still have nightmares about it, sometimes.  But it’s in the past right?  A good seven years in the past…”

An ugly thought raced across Mycroft’s mind as he held the slim body in his arms. 

      “Gregory… have you been alone for all that time?”

Lestrade closed his eyes and held Mycroft a little tighter.

      “There really wasn’t much choice.  It’s not so bad, though… I got to see new places, try new things.  Yeah, not so bad, really…”

Though Mycroft’s nose and ears told a vastly different story.  His Gregory had lived a hard, lonely, desperate life and if there was one truth in this world it was that his hardships ended now.

      “Then let it be my joy to offer something besides ‘not so bad.’  You may be assured of my continued desire for companionship and… whatever else that companionship might entail.”

That was an extremely bold and risky move, but Mycroft was adamant that the glorious man in his arms know that loneliness and lack of… affection… was something he never again had to endure.

      “That means a lot to me, Mycroft.  And it’s something I want, too.”

It would be highly inappropriate, given the gravity of the moment, to launch into a jig, so Mycroft had to settle for smiling fondly and nuzzling Lestrade’s newly-cut hair.

      “Then you shall have it in abundance.  Shall we continue on?  There is much to see and you do not have unlimited time.”

Lestrade took another kiss from his Mycroft and finally released a grin that lit the corridor brighter than all the candles combined.

      “I’d like that.  How long do you think we can count on Sherlock keeping his promise?”

      “Oh, a handful of minutes, at best.  However, Mummy and Father will likely keep him occupied for at least some small amount of time to ensure us a modicum of peace and quiet.”

      “Then let’s make the most of it.  I’d hate the night to end and not have gotten the whole tour.”

      “Worry not, my dear.  What you do not witness for this visit, you will see for your next.  I… I am hopeful that you will continue to visit me here, though, I admit a greater fondness for our evenings in your home, where we are afforded a more substantial degree of privacy.”

      “You know my door is always open.”

      “And I shall take advantage of that at my earliest opportunity.”

Lestrade laughed and drew away from his vampire, nodding for him to continue with the walk and Mycroft gladly did so after taking Lestrade’s arm.  This night had certainly not been an easy one, but he was not prepared to score it as a failure.  Any time with his dear Gregory could only count as a success, and there would be many more successes to come…

__________

After a far too short time alone and a far too long time with Sherlock in attendance, Mycroft and Lestrade’s walk came to an end with the sounding of Lestrade’s traditional yawn.

      “I feel so stupid getting tired on you, Mycroft.  It’s not very helpful, is it?”

      “Gregory, your physiology is not something for which to apologize.”

      “His failure to use it efficiently is, however.”

      “Sherlock… oh, I cannot bear to waste any further breath on you.”

      “Sherlock, if I didn’t have to work for a living, unlike some little princeling I know, I’d be happy to sleep days and stay awake all night chatting with your brother, but since that’s not going to happen, I’ll have to keep my current hours.”

      “And I shall now escort you home, my dear, so you may use those hours for a restful sleep.”

      “I suppose I should say goodbye to your mum and dad.”

      “I am certain they are occupied at the moment.  The hours after breakfast are always busy ones.  I shall convey your respects at my earliest opportunity.”

Under no circumstances was his Gregory going to fall into Mummy and Father’s clutches another time.  Perhaps, after a proper chastising and a review of his carefully-prepared list on the offenses they had committed this evening, there would be a second visit by his dearest to test their suitability as hosts.  That would not, however, occur tonight.

      “Alright then… Sherlock, I’ll see you sometime, I presume.”

      “Only if I have exhausted every piece of luck given to me by Fate.”

      “Ok, that’s settled.  Mycroft?  Ready to go?”

      “Quite.  Sherlock, I will return home, soon.  Prepare for a reprimand.”

      “Oh good.  Today will be as every day of my dreary existence.  I feel so blessed.”

Mycroft and Sherlock shared brotherly scowls and Lestrade took the initiative to pull Mycroft away and give Sherlock a shove in the other direction.

      “You two must have a great time when it’s just you at home.”

      “Oh, it is a true delight.  I know now that if the entirety of the dreadful creatures that stalk the world gather together and launch an assault on this property, I shall be properly trained to repel their attacks.”

      “It’s good the little thing has a use, isn’t it?”

      “Most certainly.  I would hate to think his birth and the darkness it has brought to the world was a pointless act.”

Meandering through the corridors, Mycroft guided Lestrade back to his bedroom to change back into his own clothes and finally brought Lestrade to the stables, where they, again, began a journey, this one fraught with less trepidation that the one that brought them here.  As they rode, Mycroft felt only a tad guilty taking a slightly longer route back to the cottage than the more direct approach they’d used previously.  His Gregory was breathtaking astride a horse, bathed in moonlight and the extra few minutes he could eke out of their ride would be treasured.  It was with heartwrenching regret that he finally saw the cottage in the distance and when they were fully arrived, both boys dismounted and immediately fell into a farewell kiss that each was very reluctant to end.

      “I shall miss you, Gregory, though I hope not for long.”

      “When can you come back?”

      “Hmmm… the night after tomorrow, I believe.  Will that do?”

      “Any time I get with you is fantastic so, yes, that will do.”

      “I know tonight had both its highs and lows, my dear, but I consider it a splendid evening.”

      “I do, too.  I just hope your parents don’t think I’m a bit strange after all that.”

      “I can assure you that you have obtained their highest regard.  Neither Father nor Mummy would hesitate to express their displeasure if you had offended them in some way.  They would do it in a very falsely-polite manner, of course, but you would glean their meaning with very little difficulty.”

      “Good, then.  I don’t want them to think you’ve taken up with some complete fool.”

Mycroft tilted Lestrade’s head upwards and laid another kiss on his lips.  A little reward was definitely required for that small phrase – taken up with.

      “They do not and even if they did, I would not release my grip on such as a striking and invigorating man as you.”

And now it was Lestrade’s turn to offer up a little reward, one Mycroft had been shamefully hoping his Gregory would bestow.  Lestrade took a breath and extended his wrist, hissing with pleasure as Mycroft ran his tongue along the skin and laid kisses up and down for a moment before sinking his fangs into the strong vessel whose scent had captivated him, as if by an ancient and glorious magic.  If Lestrade’s arm hadn’t been around his waist, he might very well have collapsed from the shock of the intensity of the sensations that rocked his body.  Everything was beyond imagination!  The flavor, the smell, the feel, the heat that warmed his cool frame from its core.  Every bit that he drank sent his pleasure spiraling higher and this time, there was no denying his body’s demands and he began rubbing against Lestrade’s hip, dragging his erection up and down against his partner’s body until he felt his trousers undone and a hand that wasn’t his own wrap around his cock to begin stroking him, slowly at first, then faster as the primal noises he was making escalated.  When a sudden explosion of flavor hit his mouth, Mycroft couldn’t hold back his orgasm and bit down more sharply as the tremors shook his body and he covered Lestrade’s hand with his release.

The primitive urge to keep his fangs buried in the man he had claimed as his own so no one else could attempt to steal him away was intense, but Mycroft forced himself to extract his fangs and lap tenderly at the injured flesh to facilitate healing.  Only when he noticed the bruising that was forming did he fully snap back to reality and gather his wits.

      “Oh Gregory… I am so sorry…”

      “What for, you…”

Lestrade took Mycroft in a blazing kiss that the vampire reciprocated just as hotly.

      “That was fucking amazing, you sexy bastard.  Don’t you ever apologize to me for doing that.”

It was only then that Mycroft caught the scent of Lestrade’s own seed and realized from where that incredible surge of pleasure had come from that sent him flying over the proverbial cliff.

      “My Gregory enjoyed himself, it seems.”

      “Without one hand on myself, either.  That’s how bloody amazing it was.”

Lestrade’s eyes were still licked with flames of passion and not even another long, deep kiss could fully quench them.

      “I’d have you in my bed right now if they weren’t expecting you back at home.  And I wasn’t a few hours from having to be in the fields.”

Mycroft’s mind was pulled right back into a very feral state where the thought of immediately taking Lestrade to his tiny bed and wrapping around him to protect him from any and all threats… and competitors… seemed like an extremely good idea.  But he must, first and foremost, protect his Gregory from _his_ own desires, which would ensure his lover never saw a moment’s sleep the rest of the night.

      “And I would go willingly, showing you to the height of my ability how desperately I desire to be there, but I will bow to your more rational mind.  For now.”

The young vampire struggled to shove aside the animalistic side of him that had suddenly welled up, but, from the sharp glint in his Gregory’s eyes, this newly-revealed part of him was highly appreciated.

      “For now.  Go… my rational mind isn’t going to win for long.”

No, that much was surely the case, on both their parts, so Mycroft tucked himself back into his trousers and lifted Lestrade’s hand to take a taste of his semen mixed with his dearest’s skin.

      “I adore you, Gregory.  Do not doubt that for an instant.”

Before Lestrade could answer, Mycroft leapt upon his horse and snatching the rein of the other, sped off quickly.  Only after he was completely sure he could no longer hear the hoof beats did Lestrade make a quick run to the lake to clean himself, and his trousers, before retiring for the evening.  Not that he was sure he’d sleep.  He was achingly tired and his body was purring like a satisfied cat, but his mind was such a whirlwind, he wasn’t sure it would ever slow down.  Mycroft said he adored him but there was more in his vampire’s eyes than that.  A great deal more.  He should be terrified, he should be trying to slow the pace, but not a part of him wanted that.  His mind, his body and his heart all were in perfect agreement that this was the right thing.  This was real and good and beautiful and he really _would_ be a fool if he didn’t grab it and hold on as tightly as he could.  If nothing else, he knew he wasn’t the only one holding on with all their might…


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft spent the entire journey home battling his instincts to turn back and crawl into Lestrade’s bed, spending the remainder of the night showing his lover that no one else in creation could care for him, satisfy him… _worship_ him… as well as could he.  Gregory was _his_ and he had to prove he was worthy of that great gift… and that he was a worthy prize for his lover to claim as his own.  By the time he was able to stable the horses, his mind was a wash of drives all leading in the same direction and the only thing he could think to do was storm straight to his room to block out the world so he could at least, in his fantasies, have his Gregory by his side.

      “Mycroft?”

Mycroft snarled and turned at the voice, glaring at his parents, who were staring in growing astonishment at their son who was practically growling at them.

      “What?”

      “Son… did Gregory…”

      “Do not speak one word against him!  I spared you my displeasure for his distress at breakfast, but you shall not be so lucky a second time!”

Now, the two older vampires had confirmation that what their noses were telling them was absolutely the case and wished they could start the rejoicing, but their son would be a bit too dangerous to those around him for several hours and someone had to keep an eye on him.  Also, someone had to uptake the task of… explaining a few things.  Once again, there was a quick volley of non-verbal discussion and, for a second time, Mycroft’s father was voted the person to shepherd their son through this pivotal event in his life.

      “No one shall say a single derogatory thing about your Gregory, Mycroft.  He is a fine young man and you are very, very fortunate to have him.  Why don’t we go and converse, you and I?  I am certain you have a wealth of accolades to share about him and I would be honored to hear each of them.  Come along, son, we’ll talk in my study while your mother keeps your brother occupied.”

Giving his wife a triumphant grin, the elder Holmes carefully touched his son’s shoulder to start him moving.  Until Mycroft’s body adjusted, he would happily tear to pieces anyone who gave even the slightest insult to the one he loved and Sherlock was disagreeable enough as a whole, let alone a hundred separate pieces of disdain and indignation…

__________

      “There… have a seat, Mycroft.”

      “I do not wish to.”

      “Alright… that’s fine.  I’ll have a seat, though.  Would you like a drink?”

      “Why am I here?”

      “Fine, no drink for you.  It is probably for the best anyway.  How are you feeling, son?”

      “That is none of your business.”

Practically hissing out his words… oh, what memories that brought back…

      “After tonight, no, it will not be, but right now it is best for all that I intrude in your affairs.”

This time, Mycroft’s glare was tinged with a highly-reluctant curiosity and the older vampire remained very still as his son moved forward and loomed over him.

      “Your explanation had best satisfy me.”

      “You are providing your own, if you can concentrate sufficiently to hear it.  Step back, Mycroft, and try to calm yourself.”

Mycroft snarled a warning at his father, but took a few steps back and moved to stand near the fire.

      “How difficult was it for you to leave your Gregory tonight?  How desperately do you want to race back to his side even now and hold him fast so you are undeniably assured that no hands but yours will touch him?”

      “Gregory would never accept another’s touch!  He is proud to be mine!”

Well, that was one obstacle avoided.  It was usually the case when a vampire awakened to his true love that they were loved in return, but _usually_ was such an uncertain term.  Especially when the loved one was human.  Luckily, human-vampire pairs were rare… very luckily, as they would have to discuss…

      “I am _certain_ he is.  In no manner am I implying otherwise.  And I am just as certain you are proud to be his.”

      “I am!  Gregory is… incomparable!”

      “Yes, he is an inestimable individual.  Honorable, intelligent, strong…”

Oh, that was an angry scowl.  Must remember no to demonstrate too much potential interest and send his son into a boiling rage of jealousy.

      “… and you shall be an excellent husband for him.”

Something lit up in Mycroft’s mind and the smallest semblance of reason peeked through the thick fog in his mind.

      “What did you say?”

      “Mycroft… you are irrational, combative, jealous, possessive, longing for the one you left scarcely an hour ago… you are not unread on the attributes of our kind… you know what this signifies.  You have found that most special love, my son.  You have found the one to whom your heart was destined to bind itself and I could not be happier for you.  Not all of our kind are so blessed, but you have achieved what we all desire and I am positively ecstatic.”

The younger man shook his head as if trying to clear away the frantic pounding of emotions inside his skull and his father used the moment to reflect back on the conversation he’d had with _his_ father.  At least Mycroft hadn’t actually attacked him yet.  His dear sire had made the unfortunate mistake of making a jest about sending his beloved far away so he could better concentrate on family business issues… the wounds that his response left took nearly a full week to heal.  Oh, the joys of watching your children grow…

      “I… what?”

      “I am not unaware of what transpired between you and Gregory after you departed, son.  You took a step and it was the final evidence your heart and body needed to know he was the one.  He transported you to a place you had never been, never knew could exist, and you want nothing more than to be with him now to experience it again.  Your whole being responded to him, not just your physical form, but the entirety of who you are was consumed by sensations that transcended what you ever believed possible.  Do not think you can emerge from that fire unchanged.  You _are_ his, Mycroft.  You love him and not in the transitory, haphazard fashion some use the term, but with a life-changing passion that our race is fortunate to achieve.  You love your Gregory, son, and, now, your body is adapting itself to the new truth it is embracing.  All of us who are sufficiently blessed to find our true partner experience the same.  It will pass, become more manageable, but at this moment… it is a savage feeling, is it not?”

Oh, that wicked and slightly deranged smile… the mightiest of the dark sorcerers would flee in terror seeing his Mycroft bearing down on them wearing that smile.  His sedate and tightly-controlled son had depths that were very deep indeed…

      “It is true?  I love Gregory?”

      “Would you deny it?”

Mycroft pushed again at the miasma obstructing his thoughts and reached for the tiny thread that was beckoning him like a light upon the shore.  His Gregory was at the end of that thread and it was everywhere!  It ramified through him, leaving nothing touched, as if his dearest was woven into the fabric of his existence.  And that thread was comforting.  But stimulating.  And wondrous.  Also, sensual.  It was loving and caring and passionate and engrossing and everything that was his Gregory.  He’d thought the word, but truly did not know what it truly meant until his beloved freely offered him the gift of his blood and his desire, and took his meager gifts in return.

      “No… no, I will not.  I _cannot_.  But… what now do I do?”

If his son’s love had been a vampire, the answer would be simple.  Plan a wedding and celebrate the growth of their family.  With a human… it was a far more complex issue…

      “What do you _want_ to do?”

      “Everything!  Make him happy, provide him the life he deserves, pleasure him until he screams, hold him gently while we sleep, show him the world, _give_ him the world…”

      “But for how long?”

Mycroft’s mind did clear this time and, in fact, came to a screeching halt.

      “How long?   No… no!”

      “He is human, Mycroft.  He will live the number of years a human lives and then vanish from this world.  You can choose to live those years with him and suffer a devastating loss when he passes or…”

      “I shall not forsake him!  I _cannot_ do so!”

And that was the utter truth.  Nothing in his life had filled him with a greater level of terror than the thought of walking away and leaving his Gregory behind.

      “Then you are left with two options.  Enjoy your years with him as he is now or… take a different approach.”

      “Different?”

      “Again, the choices are two.  Bring him over and make him one of us or… make him your thrall.”

Mycroft looked like he’d been slapped and before he could launch the attack his reflexes were setting in motion, the older vampire leapt up and made certain his large and sturdy chair was between them.

      “Mycroft, calm yourself…”

      “Make him my slave?  I should kill you for suggesting that!”

And with the fury in his eyes, Mycroft’s father had no doubt his son would at least try.

      “That is not always the situation, son.  Once he consumed your blood, yes, he would be bound to you, need your blood to survive… be unable to go or live as he pleased, for a few days away from you would spell his doom, however… he would _not_ be your slave.  He would have no compulsion to obey, his mind would be his own.  He would not be a changed man other than his survival depended on you and as long as he could feed, he would continue to live.  For as long as you remained alive, so would he.  It… it is the choice many have made and it has not been an unhappy one, necessarily.”

      “My Gregory will not be tied to me against his will!  He will live free and independent and stay with me because he loves me and not because I have taken away his choices!”

      “I understand, Mycroft… I do.  It is not the best possible situation, but it _is_ an option to keep him with you and if he agrees, you could not say it was done against his will.  The other choice… you know what that could mean.”

And Mycroft did.  Despite the legends and folktales, a vampire could not simply take a human and bring them over to their species on whim.  Not all humans could make the transition and death was the outcome if they could not.  To try ended either in a new member of their race or a dead human; there was no other possibility.

      “I do.  I could lose him entirely.”

      “There is no way to know what will happen, no clue or evidence to help weigh a decision.  Many a witch, wizard, warlock, sorcerer and necromancer have been consulted to no avail.  You are not the only one who has faced this choice, Mycroft, and if there was a better alternative or a clearer ability to predict the outcome, I would not hesitate to tell you.”

Mycroft took a moment to destroy several pieces of furniture and place quite a number of fist-sized holes in the stone walls while his father hid… waited… in the small recess next to the fireplace.  After this bout of energy seemed to have dissipated, the older man peered from his cover and felt his heart break at how utterly distraught his son appeared.  Pouring out a lethal-to-humans measure of strong spirits, he handed the glass to his son and gently steered him to the mostly-intact chair across from the one he again occupied.

      “All is not lost, Mycroft, it is not.  Your Gregory is still young and you have time to discuss matters with him, speak to others who have made their choice… right now, you should only concentrate on what your heart is speaking and take from it the joy it offers.  And this _is_ a joyous occasion, Mycroft.  You have found a great love and one that is returned to you.  At worst, son, at _worst_ , your Gregory remains fully human and you enjoy decades of happiness with him.  There are countless in this world who cannot claim such a thing.  So, so many never find their true love and then there are those who lose what they have found long before the natural time.  This is not a time for anger or sorrow, but for rejoicing and that we shall do aplenty.  When you have spoken with Gregory, stated clearly the love you have for him and offered yourself as the one to share his life, we shall celebrate such as this house has never witnessed.”

Celebrate… was it possible to celebrate knowing that what he felt was as condemning as it was elevating?  What would his beloved think, hearing what their future held…

      “But _will_ he accept me, knowing the consequences of what I offer?  Live a life where he feels the winter of age grow in his bones while I do not?  Or reject his freedom for a life where he might think free, but cannot live that way?  Perhaps, accept that his one chance to walk with me freely through the centuries shall just as likely end in death as success?  Will he accept me knowing all of that?”

Unfortunately, there was only one person who could answer that question and he was not sitting in this room.

      “I do not know, but if he feels the way you are convinced he does, then I believe that he will be devoted, as are you, to finding the proper path for your lives to be joined.  There will be some discussions of import in your future, and they may not be easy ones, but I have faith in you Mycroft.  I believe, in full honesty, that your heart would not have chosen Gregory if he were not the one who would make you happy and give you the love you deserve.  Here, let me refill your drink and we shall speak of pleasanter matters.  Such as… where do you believe you and your beloved shall reside?  There are existing houses on two of your properties and either would be highly suitable as a residence for a new couple.”

Now, that ignited a new fire in Mycroft’s brain and burned away the misery that had started to take root.  He could give his Gregory a home, property, wealth… any pursuits or entertainments he might desire… travel to any land that took his fancy.  He could salve his love’s terrible memories and experiences and see him safe and happy after so many years of difficulty.  Gregory was _his_ to protect and he would do so to the apex of his ability… see that nothing ever imperiled his lover or brought him a shred of unhappiness.  Perhaps it was time to refresh his skills in unarmed combat…

__________

What a day!  The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, the bees were buzzing, he had a good day’s work to his credit, and a song named Mycroft in his heart.  Now, he’d pay his debt to Mrs. Hudson before working a few hours at the tavern and then a long swim in the lake before bed.  This really was perfect… he had a man he… ok, adored would be the word for now… he adored, this really was a beautiful area and the people were friendly, there was work and he had a house, a real house to live in.  Perfect.  And tomorrow night, his man would be in his house and they were going to do things that people who… adored… each other did.  _Perfect_ …

      “Mrs. Hudson, I’m here for the weeding!”

      “Oh, Greg.  It’s good to… see… you…”

Lestrade felt a lump grow in his stomach seeing the shocked look on the witch’s face and hoped he hadn’t lost his head or something and the blokes at the farm failed to let him know.

      “Mrs. Hudson, is everything ok?”

      “That’s what I’m going to find out.  Come here.”

The nervous boy walked slowly forward and sat on the stool that Mrs. Hudson had patted, waiting for whatever verdict she was set to pronounce.  Which wasn’t quick in coming since he first had to sit through the most detailed inspection of his life and spit in a cup that was filled with some green powder that turned colorless when it contacted his saliva.

      “Gregory Lestrade… you’ve been up to a bit of fun, haven’t you?”

What?

      “What?”

      “You can tell Mrs. Hudson… you and Mycroft have been enjoying yourselves haven’t you?”

No!  There would be no discussion of Mycroft-based fun with… anyone!

      “That’s not… that’s nobody’s business but ours!”

      “Not for long.  Probably not at all.  I suspect his parents are already preparing the guest list.”

What?

      “What?”

      “Oh, don’t be coy.  You and Mycroft shared a little… business… and now you’ve got vampire love running all over you.  In you, too.  All up inside you, lighting you as bright as if you’d swallowed a pretty bunch of glow worms.”

What?

      “What?”

      “I know you know more words than that, lad.  You woke up Mycroft’s affections and they attached themselves onto you.  And don’t look at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about, because you do.  You felt it when it happened, didn’t you?  Sort of fancied him and it grew very fast until you… businessed… and then you felt it good and hard.  And you knew he felt it, too.  Congratulations, boy… you’re in love with a vampire.”

      “I am?”

      “Don’t play daft with me, Greg Lestrade.  There’s no mistaking that feeling.  It’s not just a love, it’s being one half of a whole.  Vampires can love more deeply than you can imagine.  Not all get the chance, but for those who do… when they find the other half of their heart, they… oh, I don’t know how to describe it, but they become a new person.  Someone who’s… reborn.  Mycroft is in love with you and will devote everything of himself to demonstrating that love to you every single day.  And, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m _not_ , you already feel that love and have been curling around it like a cat around a warm blanket.  That’s not what happens when he’s not the other half of _your_ heart, too, so you’re in this just as deep as he is.”

He wasn’t a cat.  Cats didn’t have a wank three times behind a tree during their work day because they were thinking about their… adored one… and having everything in them burn for that person like the heat of a hundred suns.  Anyway, what he felt wasn’t what was important…

      “So… Mycroft loves me?”

      “With all that he is.  You’re covered in the traces and those don’t lie.”

      “He _really_ loves me.”

      “I’m beginning to wonder if he should.”

      “I… I thought he felt something… something real and...  I was _right_?”

      “You’re an idiot.”

      “No… I’m just…”

      “Stupidly in love.”

      “Yeah.”

He was.  He absolutely was.  Mrs. Hudson was right… he’d fancied Mycroft the first night they met.  Then, every time they saw each other, the feeling kept growing until… last night.  He was still reeling over last night.  His body had never felt so much for another person, the same way his mind had never enjoyed another’s company as much as Mycroft’s.  And all day today… besides wanking… he’d wanted news.  How was Mycroft doing?  Did he get home alright?  What was his night going to be like?  Was he getting enough rest?  Things like that.  It wasn’t just lust… he’d had the chance, now and then, to enjoy a night of pleasant company and this was _nothing_ like that.  He was stupidly in love with Mycroft Holmes and he’d known it last night.  Before last night really, but definitely in those few moments when his whole world exploded around him.  Wouldn’t put the right word to it, but he knew.  With all the things that were crazy about it, he’d known and wanted it all the same.  And now he knew for certain that Mycroft loved him, too.  Which was why he was now losing a bit of his good mood.

      “Don’t you think you should have let Mycroft tell me?”

Mrs. Hudson nodded a little distractedly, as she held up Lestrade’s hands to use them to help wind the yarn she’d just taken in trade for a few vials of her rose perfume.

      “Normally, yes.  But, I thought there were things you might want to talk about with me first.”

Ok… that wasn’t the worst reason.  He knew _nothing_ about vampires and what it meant to love one.

      “That’s not… a bad reason I suppose.  I should know what it means to have Mycroft as the person in my life, so… what _should_ I know.”

      “Oh no, that’s something you have to talk with him about.  I’m not getting involved in those decisions.”

Decisions?”

      “What do you mean decisions?”

      “What part of not getting involved didn’t you understand?”

      “You started this!  Said I might want to talk about things!”

      “But I didn’t mean things you might want to know about Mycroft.”

      “You didn’t?”

      “Not in the slightest.”

      “Then… what did you mean?”

Mrs. Hudson paused winding her yarn and looked Lestrade dead in the eye.

      “Why don’t you tell _me_?”

__________

Mycroft lay in bed and, now that the bestial grip of his new status had lessened, felt every bit of the strain he’d put his body through last night.  A vampire’s strength was far greater than that of a human, but reducing a wall of stone to near rubble was a bit much for one of his tender years.  What he had done!  What he had said!  What he had felt!   It was… shamefully fantastic!  He had never been that unbridled, so purely wild and it was positively glorious.  And he could still feel it, albeit in a much-reduced form.  Father said it would ever simmer at the edges of his mind and come surging forth whenever it was needed.  Or wanted.  His body very much liked to imagine the turn that ferocity could take with his Gregory in his arms.  Or the turn the tenderly-loving side of him would take with his Gregory in his arms.  Or his newfound playful and amusing side.  None of that, however, was of the utmost importance.  All that mattered was that his beloved would soon lie with him in their shared bed and that thought had already forced him to satisfy his lusts twice as he lay here feeling the sun rise.

He had found his love.  He never thought it would happen, though Mummy and Father had found each other, as did Granpapa and Grandmama.  Not for him, though, did he think that this good fortune would strike.  He would find a collegial spouse, someone he could admire and care about, love in a way that was different, but not at all unsatisfying.  Never did he think he would be given this gift.  He was too… him.   Focused on solitary pursuits, rather dull and lacking in a spirit of adventure… who could possibly have _him_ as their other half?  Apparently, an exemplar of men.  A beautiful, captivating, powerful, intelligent and seductive man.  Gregory was his and he was effectively, now, a married man.  He knew his beloved’s heart as well as he did his own.  He had read his scent, felt his body warm and vibrate with his touch, and those eyes… he had seen truly the depths of his Gregory’s feelings in those breathtaking pools of warmest brown.  His dearest would accept no other into his life and only he would enjoy the charms his Gregory offered.  There had been no formal proposal… yet… but they were as deeply entwined as any wedded couple.  And that feeling was beyond compare…

Tonight, however, he must tend to other matters, though Father had offered to excuse him of his duties.  He had almost agreed, then thought better of it… another night to cool the furor in his blood was not amiss.  It would not present well for him to arrive at Gregory’s home and find his love conversing with a passing huntsman who would then be rendered to bloody shreds by the vestiges of his possessive wrath.  As it was, Sherlock had crossed his path shortly before he retired last night, and with a handful of words, enraged him so uncontrollably, the only way Sherlock saved himself from a truly brutal thrashing was a crash through a stained-glass window and fingers-crossed hope that he could take his bat form before he splattered on the ground below. Since there was no audible splattering, the evil little thing had obviously succeeded and wisely stayed far from his path ever since.  Yes… another night to restore equilibrium was certainly not amiss…


	8. Chapter 8

Lestrade had no idea why he was checking the state of his cottage because… there wasn’t really anything to check.  It took two seconds to see everything he owned or was being kindly lent and he’d already done this a half-dozen times already.  And checked _himself_ just as often, even though all he could boast that was new about his appearance was that he’d taken some pains to wash one of his two shirts in the lake last night and bathed the moment he returned home today, to get the grime out of all the nooks and crannies.  Maybe he’d also bartered a little repair work on her shop with Mrs. Hudson for a pot of a really spectacular tooth cleaner and breath freshener.  After they’d had another talk.  Which he was not going to think about right now because… it wasn’t time to think about that right now.  Better to think about the fact his Mycroft would be here soon and… well, this was it, wasn’t it.  All day he’d worked hard but never once failed to sense what felt like a piece of Mycroft sitting comfortably in his center.  Mrs. Hudson said it would be that way.  He’d carry his lover with him always and she was right!  It was phenomenal and if this was just the start of what they’d have together… he was ready.  He was ready for it all…

__________

Mycroft checked his outfit for a fourth time and for a fourth time found it inadequate for facing his beloved and asking him formally to unite their lives.  His Gregory loved him, that much was certain, and that love should be rewarded with a proposal of the most eloquent and heartfelt of words and seriousness of oration.  His speech, his attire, his grooming… all must be flawless.  His dearest deserved no less.

      “Oh Mycroft, you look very handsome.  Truly, your Gregory will be speechless at your appearance.”

Oh joy… Mummy was here.

      “Mummy… I am quite busy…”

      “Busy changing your clothes, from what I can assess, and you can do that and speak at the same time.”

Despite his murderous glare, Mycroft’s mother took a seat in the chair by the fire and admired the boy… no, the man… who was busy preparing for the most important night of his life.

      “Mummy, I must soon leave and…”

      “And you want to look your best, I know.  I would not change a thing, if I were you.  Your garments nicely flatter your body type, are modest in style, and the hue accentuates your natural coloring very attractively.  It is a supremely appropriate choice for your intentions and Gregory will be utterly taken aback when he sees you.  Do you… do you know what you are going to say?”

Unquestionably yes.  And absolutely no.

      “I have an outline of my narrative, yes.”

      “But, you are fearful of locking yourself into a set speech, because you do not want to batter through with practiced words when speaking from the heart is, here, what is truly called for.”

He was going to insist the blacksmith fashion for him a new and prominent lock for this door and order the renovation and repair of his and Gregory’s chosen residence at the very earliest opportunity.

      “As you say.”

      “Very good.  I am terribly proud of you, Mycroft, but then, your father and I have _always_ been filled with pride for you.  Now, do you have a gift?”

Damnation!

      “No… I did not think… it slipped my mind completely.”

      “Then aren’t you fortunate it did not slip mine.”

A quick reach into a pocket produced a small box that was passed from mother to son.  Mycroft opened it carefully and sucked in an astonished breath.

      “This is great-grandfather’s ring.”

      “That it is.  I believe it to be a proper and suitable offering.  Your great-grandfather was much like your Gregory… though he held vast wealth, he could often be found out of doors exploring the woods, working his own garden of the most delightful night-blooming flowers, making toys for the children of the family from bits of wood and cloth… he was a practical man, given to simpler tastes and his ring… it was one he had designed so he never had to remove it, no matter what task occupied his hands.  It is a good choice for your young man, I think.”

Mycroft stared at the ring in the box and knew immediately his mother was correct.  The band was thick, but not unwieldy and the decoration was naught but simply-carved symbols of meaning to their family and a single, deep-set, perfect ruby that would excellently complement his love’s swarthier coloring.  His Gregory could wear this forever and never find reason to remove it from his finger…

      “I can imagine nothing more fitting for him.  Thank you, Mummy.”

      “You are quite welcome.  May I assume we shall not see you for dinner?”

      “You may assume that, yes.”

      “Is there… is there a suitable resting place for you should the time… also slip your mind?”

Nosy mothers were the most villainous of creatures.  But they sometimes had a valid point.

      “There is both attic and cellar space that I might use should it become necessary, though the traditional hour of Gregory’s waking will leave me suitable time to depart and return home.  Besides, I am quite able to manage the sun for a goodly while.”

      “True, but I would not place great trust in your Gregory’s desire to rise from his bed at his normal time.”

Grinning, nosy mothers were even more heinous.

      “That officially ends this discussion.”

Mycroft moved to the his bedroom door and opened it, standing in wait as his mother laughed at his dramatics, but rose from her seat and moved to leave.

      “So very, very proud of you, Mycroft.  And happier for you than you can imagine.  Give Gregory our regards.”

After a kiss on Mycroft’s cheek, his mother was gone from the room and the young vampire was left alone to… continue to wear this current set of garments, with the addition of a ring that now resided in his pocket.  It was time to leave.  His Gregory would be home and waiting for him.  Hopefully, as eagerly as he was anticipating arriving…

__________

Ok.  After the sun went down, Mycroft would have to wake up, have breakfast, get dressed… or the other way around… probably do some family things and then he could leave to come here.  So, given that, he should be arriving any moment.  In fact… might as well wait outside so he could greet Mycroft as soon as he got here.  Not that the extra two seconds between landing and knocking on the door mattered much, but pacing back and forth could be done just as easily outdoors and kicking stones was a lot less damaging to his living environment than kicking the walls…

Lestrade ran outside and took a long, deep breath of the warm night air and shook himself from head to toe to dispel his nerves.  It felt like there were a thousand ants biting at his skin and boring into his bones… and why not?  Mycroft was coming and Mrs. Hudson said to expect an important conversation when he arrived.  A _very_ important one.  A decide-the-course-of-the-rest-of-your-life one. Which was fine with him.  He’d looked deep inside and let his brain run through every bit of his thinking and feeling and… yes, that conversation was fine with him.  And, glancing up to see a tiny figure approaching, it appeared it was going to happen sooner rather than later…

Holding out his hand, palm upwards, Lestrade slowly counted and not ten seconds passed before a small, warm body landed in that palm, wearing what a bat could fashion for a jubilant grin.  Setting Mycroft on the ground, Lestrade stepped back and was amazed as always by how quickly the vampire could take his normal form and further amazed by how spectacular his lover appeared tonight.

      “Mycroft… you look amazing!  Really, I’m speechless…”

Something Mycroft vowed his mother would never learn.

      “Thank you, my dear.  And I may say the same of you.”

Not that Lestrade voice his protest because he was quickly in his vampire’s arms and kissing him as hungrily as a man starved for a month.

      “Are you just arrived home?”

      “No, I was just waiting out here where it wasn’t so… inside.”

Mycroft raised his hand and caressed Lestrade’s cheek, breathing the immediate change in scent at his touch and smiling at the heat that warmed his fingers as he ran them across his beloved’s skin.

      “You were eager for my visit.”

      “And you were eager _to_ visit.”

      “Touché.”

      “Glad we understand each other.”

Lestrade smiled brightly and Mycroft lost a great deal of the nervous bile that had made his stomach a very unhappy organ for the past hour.

      “That shall make tonight’s conversation, perhaps, a little easier.”

      “Then we _are_ going to talk about things.  Good.  I’m um…. I’m ready for that.”

Mycroft felt his eyes go misty seeing the confidence and decisiveness in his lover’s own beautiful, bottomless-brown ones.  Without another word, the vampire took Lestrade’s hand and led him inside, much to the consternation of the two bats hidden in the trees near the cottage.  Their son could have at least had the decency to ask his question out in the open where they could hear the answer…

__________

Once inside, Mycroft took Lestrade in another kiss, this one soft and gentle and marveled at how content he was at this moment.  It was as if something had been missing from his life and now it was returned to him.  His beloved was in his arms and nothing else in the world mattered.

      “I missed you, Mycroft.”

      “And I missed you, Gregory.  Since last I saw you, you have never been absent from my mind.”

      “Should we… sit?”

      “That is probably wise.”

Mycroft moved towards the table, but had his arm taken by Lestrade and pulled towards the small bed, which he now noticed had been provided with two crude pillows.  His Gregory had planned ahead…

      “I thought… we might be a little more comfortable this way.”

      “Your forethought is most appreciated.”

Lestrade toed off his shoes and Mycroft followed suit, taking his place on the bed with his lover and sitting so that he and Lestrade could extend their legs and wrap them lightly around each other.

      “You were quite correct… this is most pleasant.”

As Mycroft highlighted by leaning forward to take another kiss, which tasted precisely as good as the last.

      “I thought it might be better for what… well, for whatever.  So, what’s… what do you want to talk about?”

Mycroft drew in a deep breath and, although he had played this moment in his head over and over a hundred times, now that the time was here… all of his careful plans seemed to have vanished as thoroughly as Sherlock’s arms.

      “You, my dear.  And me.  What we have found in this short time and what I hope we might build as we move forward.”

If that was not the most romantically-lacking phrase in the history of speech, Mycroft would be greatly surprised.  However, now that he was committed, the only way out was to keep going…

      “We… I felt a connection with you when first my eyes landed their gaze upon your splendor and that has only strengthened as more of you I have come to know.  You are in my dreams, Gregory, have been since that very first night, and when I wake, I ache because you are not there next to me.  When last we met… I have never experienced anything so profound.  Every of my senses, my heart, mind and body… all, in that moment, spoke with a single voice that you were the one for whom they had been patiently waiting and, with my entire being I committed myself to you for as long as we live.”

Mycroft had to take a moment as his emotions were battering at him like waves on the hull of a small and untethered boat.  It was only when Lestrade reached out to gently caress his cheek that he was able to continue.

“I love you, Gregory.  It is such a small, simple word, one I have used before for a piece of art or a particularly nice view of the countryside, having no true idea of its real meaning, of its incalculable power.  I _love_ you, my dearest, and I do so deeply, passionately, enduringly, blissfully and, though this is sudden, happening in what feels like nothing more than a handful of heartbeats, I cannot deny what I feel.  If you… if you will permit me, if you will do me the extreme honor, I would dedicate myself to showing you every day how greatly I treasure you and what you have brought to my life.”

Lestrade gripped Mycroft’s hand and swallowed down the thick, hot mass that had formed in his throat as he listened to his lover’s words.

      “Mycroft… are you asking me…”

Lestrade couldn’t finish as water began to build in his eyes and, this time, it was Mycroft who offered comfort, lifting his lover’s hand and laying a soft kiss on Lestrade’s sultry skin.

      “I am.  I love you, Gregory, and I want a life where you stand as my partner for all things.  I am asking you to marry me, to be my husband and to take me as yours.  I know I have not your vitality, your breathtaking form, your scintillating humor or unflagging strength, both of body and of character, but I offer you all that I am and all that I have if you are willing to accept it.”

Mycroft’s body suffered a cold wind blowing through it as he waited for Lestrade’s response, which was slow to come because, even though he’d expected this, Mrs. Hudson said to be prepared and ready to answer, Lestrade found himself overcome with a force of emotion that he did _not_ expect slamming into him like an enraged boar.  He wasn’t worthy of someone like Mycroft.  He had nothing to offer back, nothing besides what filled his heart… a heart that didn’t think love was something it would ever feel again.  It was all he had to give, but, looking into Mycroft’s hopeful eyes, he knew that was all Mycroft would ever want.  He couldn’t offer wealth or power or status, all he had fit into a small pack, but what he _could_ offer… love, devotion, companionship… if that was enough for Mycroft, then he’d give it gladly.  And greedily hold onto what his vampire was willing to give in return.

      “I am.”

      “P… pardon?”

      “I _am_ willing to accept it.  You know… you know what I am.  Homeless, without family or money… so you know there are only a few things I can offer you in exchange.  I can offer to love you as deeply and powerfully as I’m able, support you in what you do, be your friend and your lover, and share whatever troubles and joys we find along the way.  If that’s enough for you, then yes, I _will_ marry you.”

Surging out of the shadows, Mycroft’s new primal self grabbed Lestrade’s waist and pulled him forward so he was sitting close and pressed their bodies together as he kissed his future husband fiercely on the lips.  Gregory was his!  This astounding creature had chosen him!  And there was no magic in existence that could ever steal him away…

      “I crave it all, my beloved.  I promise you, I give you my _word_ that I shall cherish you as nothing else in my life and never let you doubt how greatly I love you…”

Mycroft tipped up Lestrade’s chin and stared into his eyes, relishing that the passion he saw in them was solely for him.

      “… or how fiercely I desire you...”

Long fingers ran up the side of Lestrade’s neck and he sighed softly at the tendril of sensation that streaked downward to nestle between his legs.  Mycroft’s eyes were blazing in a way he’d never seen and it was fanning his own flames very high and _very_ hot…

      “…you shall lack for nothing, my beloved… especially pleasure…”

This kiss was teasingly-tender and drew sounds out of Lestrade that the vampire hungered for as much as any other part of his lover and Mycroft had no issue moving forward and wrapping his legs around his beloved’s waist to draw out as many as he could.  The extra sensation of feeling his Gregory’s body’s strong response to his affections pressing against his own hardness was almost too much to bear.

      “I think we might be a little overdressed.”

The sentence cut through Mycroft’s arousal quite pleasantly and he hummed lightly against Lestrade’s throat.

      “I agree.  May I?”

Mycroft unfastened the tie of his Gregory’s shirt and lifted it from his body… his thin, yet lean-muscled form that was well-kissed from sunlight and summer breezes and marveled again at how purely spectacular was the man he loved.  Nothing in the cosmos could stop the vampire from running his long-fingered hands over the skin that responded beautifully to his touch and he felt with every bit he caressed that the flesh was practically begging for more.

      “You are exquisite, Gregory.  Impossibly striking and I will not apologize for the urges that rise in me when I gaze upon your beauty.”

One hand ran upwards over Lestrade’s back, while Mycroft laid kisses along a golden shoulder, tracing back over the line with tiny nips that made Lestrade moan softly, then louder when Mycroft let down his fangs and traced upwards across his lover’s neck.  It was all the vampire could do not to take a taste of what was beckoning and settle for inhaling the intoxicating scent rising off of the sensitized skin.  What he was not expecting was to be pushed back gently and faced with a lover who had a veritable inferno blazing in his eyes.

      “Aren’t you going to join me?”

Now it was Mycroft who was feeling electric currents flowing into unmentionable places from being transfixed by the passion he was witnessing and it was a lucky thing that Lestrade’s hands were steady, because the vampire’s fingers suddenly had a tremor that made shirt buttons and fastenings difficult to manipulate.

      “You’re the exquisite one, Mycroft.  Saw you that first night and my breath caught in my throat.  So tall and pale as the moon, with those fine features and that voice… silky smooth and unbelievably sexy.  And now... oh, that’s a vision of loveliness…

Mycroft felt a powerful sense of satisfaction take root in him from the highly-pleased look in Lestrade’s eyes.  No one outside of the household, besides Mrs. Hudson, had ever seen him without his shirt and it was clear that his lover very much liked what he saw.  And felt.

      “That’s too gorgeous… and all of this hair!  That’s going to feel amazing rubbing against me…”

Something Mycroft had no issue exploring.  Taking the hand that was running through the hair on his chest and giving it a gentle kiss, the vampire used his own to press Lestrade’s shoulder back and down, following his lover so he came to lie on top of the man who completely filled his eyes.

      “I _have_ dreamed of this, my beloved.  Dreamed of your body and mine lying together, sharing the ardor in our souls.  Did you?  Did you think of me at night and let a profoundly-erotic tale play through your mind?”

Lestrade drew Mycroft into a kiss, reaching around to grab his lover’s bottom and grind upwards against his rigid erection.

      “I did more than think.  The things I did to myself picturing you and me together… pretending it was your hands bringing me off.  Or that beautiful mouth of yours.”

Suddenly, Mycroft could not bear at all the feeling of clothing on his body and needed to shed every vestige, so he could let the entirety of his skin feel his lover’s body.  Snatching at his waistband, he made quick and devastating work of his fine trousers and groaned loudly when Lestrade wriggled sharply and shoved down his own, flicking them onto the floor with his foot.  Furnace-hot… his Gregory was ragingly warm and that heat penetrated into Mycroft’s body in a way he had never experienced, making his blood seem like it was boiling in his veins.  And to feel _everything_ … to take his betrothed in the deepest of kisses and savor the sensation of their bodies moving against each other was catapulting his arousal to a barely-controllable level.

      “I need you, Gregory.  I need you _now_.”

Lestrade clasped Mycroft’s head with both hands and stared intensely into his eyes.

      “Then take what you need.”

Mycroft struck like a viper, sinking his fangs into Lestrade’s throat, thrusting his hips against his lover, who quickly took both their cocks in his hands to hold them firm while Mycroft stroked faster, drinking deeply and growling in satisfaction when Lestrade cried out and spurted blazing hot semen against their skin.  The sounds, smells and eruption of taste in Lestrade’s blood pitched the vampire into his own orgasm which drained from him every spark of energy he possessed.  Fortunately, his intended still held onto some strength, sufficient to gently coax him to extract his fangs, then roll him off onto the bed, before performing the necessary cleaning and returning to take the sliver of remaining bed space and wrap his body around his nearly comatose fiancé.

      “Please don’t tell me I killed you, Mycroft.”

The slow, lazy smile that played on the vampire’s lips was a good answer to Lestrade’s question and he responded with his own before starting to slowly rub circles on his Mycroft’s soft belly.

      “It was a very near thing, my love.  Though I must apologize for the rapidity of our encounter.”

      “No… none of that.  Hard, hot and fast… that is _never_ anything to apologize for.  Besides, we’ve got a very long time ahead of us for slower, sweeter and softer.  Actually, we’ve got time for that tonight… don’t think for a minute I’m done with you, you magnificent thing.”

      “You are insatiable, Gregory.  And possessed of entirely too much vigor.”

Mycroft mustered the energy to wrap an arm around Lestrade’s shoulders and pull him closer, adoring the continual output of heat that now felt as cozy and contenting as the fire in his rooms at home.

      “As if you couldn’t pick me up and toss me up and down like a baby.”

      “Not at the moment, likely.  I am completely and utterly spent.”

      “Wait… that’s actually true?”

Mycroft let his smile widen and felt a slight renewal from Lestrade’s awed tone.

      “My kind _is_ noted for a measure of strength beyond that of humans, but it acts at our command and not without due cause.”

      “And again!  Learning new things every day.

Lestrade squirmed upwards and made himself available for a kiss, which Mycroft gladly bestowed.

      “Something I shall endeavor to perpetuate for as long as I am able.  Though I fear you shall quickly uncover all of my secrets leaving me a proverbial open book.”

      “Nah, that’s not true.  Besides, everyone’s got things they keep hidden, and there’s not anything wrong with that.”

      “Oh… and what might you be camouflaging from my knowledge?”

      “Nothing.”

Said very quickly and notably guiltily.

      “Gregory…”

      “Nothing… really.”

And that was a severely indicting tone.

      “ _Gregory_ …”

      “Fine.  Maybe… a bit of thievery.  Sometimes work isn’t easy to find, but the body still needs to eat.”

Mycroft tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to his lover’s head.  Never again would his Gregory have to worry about where to find his next meal.

      “Perfectly understandable.  And I shall not tell a soul.”

      “That’s the man I love.  Decent, honorable and discrete.”

      “I treasure your assessment.  Though I refuse to be discrete about what we share.  I intend to trumpet our devotion to the four winds and make it very clear that you are the man who shall share my life.  And…”

Mycroft’s mind hurled a forgotten intention at his consciousness and he dragged his body upwards to lean over Lestrade and feel around on the floor for his trousers, where he retrieved his gift.

      “I would, if you are willing to accept it, present you with this gift as a token of my love and adoration.”

Lestrade watched wide-eyed as Mycroft slid the ring onto his finger, then turned those widened eyes to his lover, trying desperately to find something resembling words in his rapidly-swirling mind.

      “Do you… Gregory, is it acceptable?”

It was the hesitancy in Mycroft’s voice that slowed Lestrade’s brain and the vampire received a prolonged and tender kiss to calm his worries.

      “It’s… I’ve never seen anything like it.  It’s absolutely magnificent.  But this must cost a fortune!  I can’t wear this… I’m just a…”

      “Stop.  Stop immediately.  There is nothing about you that can be described using the word ‘just,’ my love.  You are an astonishing individual and I am giddy with pride that a man such as you would choose me for a husband.  Setting aside your incomparable beauty, your mind challenges me, your strength humbles me… how many could have survived what you experienced and remained a good and worthy man?  You speak of a bit of thievery to keep yourself fed, but how many would have taken a truly dishonorable path were the same fate to befall them?  Turned to banditry, instead, or fallen in with the disreputables that plague the cities?  You have taken the _noble_ path, though it was, by far, the harder and lonelier one and for that... let me never hear ‘just’ in association with you and I shall be a happy man.”

Mycroft gave Lestrade his most stern glare, which dissolved into giggles as Lestrade stuck out his tongue, then used it to lick the tip of the vampire’s nose.

      “I love you, Mycroft Holmes.  And I cannot believe how lucky I am that I found you.  I will proudly wear this ring… stick it right in the face of everyone I meet and tell them about who I’ve got waiting for me at home.  It’s gorgeous, Mycroft, it really is.  I… I wish I had something to give you in return.”

      “You have, Gregory.  You have given me something that not all of my people possess.  You are the one who completes my heart and soul and it is not guaranteed for any of us to find that person in our lifetimes.  A simple bauble is nothing compared to that bequest.”

      “Simple bauble!  Mycroft… this is… a piece of treasure. It’s old, too, isn’t it?”

Mycroft lifted Lestrade’s ring-clad hand and rubbed the central gem with his thumb.

      “It is.  Very old in fact.  It was my great-grandfather’s and, as Mummy described to me, he was a man much like you… rugged with a keen and practical mind.”

      “And that’s a ruby, right?  I like red… it’s… well, it’s the most exciting color, isn’t it?  A blue sky is beautiful, but a deep red sunset… that’s something spectacular.  And those red flowers and berries making themselves known among the green grass and leaves.  Red doesn’t sit back and be proper and polite… it gets right in your face and gives you a big hello or punch between the eyes.”

Mycroft sucked Lestrade’s fingers into his mouth and tickled the tips with his tongue for a moment as he let this new surge of exhilaration flow through him.  Such a sensual and vivacious man was his Gregory.

      “What are these symbols, though?  They’re not just decoration, are they?”

Lestrade’s fingers were very reluctantly released from his lover’s mouth and Mycroft ran one of his own across the markings on the heavy gold band.

      “They are not.  Vampires have a language, though it not used as prevalently as once it was.  In written form, it is quite lovely, actually, and this, a slightly-archaic form, even more so.  These represent our family name and our land of origin, so far as we know it.  This one says ‘family.’  The next means ‘all’ or ‘everything.’  Great-grandfather was a staunch supporter of familial solidarity.  At one point, he seized the holdings of two of his sons and impoverished them for four decades because they were squabbling a bit too much for his liking.”

      “No.”

      “Oh yes.  It was a wise decision, ultimately, as they were forced to work together to rebuild something of an income base, which formed the foundation of our current sheep farming and textile interests.”

Lestrade laughed at the utter absurdity of it all and decided he very much liked this old gent.

      “Is he still alive?”

      “Great-grandfather?  No, unfortunately.  He enjoyed a very long life, however, and I was fortunate to know him to a small degree in his final years.”

A tiny trickle of unpleasant curiosity began to stream through Lestrade’s mind and, though he really didn’t want to follow it at this point, decided that being a coward wasn’t a good way to start his life as an engaged man.

      “Mycroft… how old are you?”

From the look that settled on his fiancé’s face, Lestrade realized that Mycroft considered this a questionable line of inquiry, as well.

      “I… I have 174 years to my name.”

      “What?  _Really_?”

      “Yes.  Does that… trouble you?”

      “I don’t know.  It’s… you’re ten times older than I am!  I could live and die twice and still not be as old as you!”

      “Gregory, I…”

      “Wait.  Just wait a moment.  I _will_ live and die, won’t I?  I’ve got maybe 60 or so years, at most, ahead of me and then… oh god…”

Mycroft quickly drew Lestrade into a firm embrace, resting his lover’s head on his chest and stroking Lestrade’s back with the arm he wrapped around his intended’s distressed form.

      “Do not think of such things, Gregory.”

      “How can I _not_ think about them?  I’m going to grow old and die and you’ll… you won’t look much different at that point will you?  I can’t make you suffer that!  Watching me get doddery and weak… I’m not going to have you look across the bed and see some old geezer who’s wrinkled and grey and wheezing away because he can’t breathe so well anymore.”

The vampire continued to caress the man he loved and wished that one of his abilities was the power to take away any upset or distress that took hold in fiancé’s heart, but that was not to be.  And there was no manner in which he could dismiss his beloved’s worries as unfounded…

      “I care not if you are youthful or aged, Gregory… my love for you will not fade or tarnish, so have no concerns about that.  And… that might not be the path of our lives together, in any case.”

Lestrade lifted his head and peered up at Mycroft who looked as if he was hopeful the world would soon come to an end so this conversation wouldn’t have to go any further.

      “What does that mean?”

      “What you describe, albeit in disparaging terms, is _one_ possibility.  There are others.”

      “How many?”

      “Two.”

      “And do I get to know what they are?”

Mycroft sighed heavily and nodded very slightly before continuing.

      “Of course, I simply… I had hoped this was not a conversation we would have on this most joyful night.”

      “Ok, I understand that.  And I actually agree with you, but we’re already rolling down the hill, so we might as well keep going until we get to the bottom.”

What his fiancé was not doing was demanding he leave or himself bolting for the door, so Mycroft placed his faith in the depth of their love and soldiered on.

      “Humans live their allotted years, which do not approach the number that my race is privileged to know.  Therefore… one must be something other than human to see the lifespan such as mine.”

      “Do I want to know what that means?”

      “If we desire to reach your hill bottom, then yes.”

      “Alright… go ahead.”

      “My blood is not the same as yours, my dear, and the differences have… life-altering… effects on humans.  To consume it produces changes that are significant and irreversible.”

Lestrade released a short huff of breath and laid his head down again on Mycroft’s chest.

      “You’re talking about making me one of you, aren’t you?”

      “As one of the possibilities, yes.  But it is not as simple a thing as that.  To bring you over to my race is a… well, there is nothing for it but to say a brutal process and one that has limited outcomes.  Success is awakening to one’s new life as one my kind; failure is never to awake at all.”

      “You mean die.”

      “I do.  There is no other possible condition, no intermediate state in which to exist.  And there is no sign, no warning as to the likelihood of success or failure.  You would be one of us or you would be dead.”

      “I see.  What… do you know the odds?”

      “I believe you would term them ‘even.’ “

      “That’s not very good, is it?”

      “It is why we scoff at the wives tales that we are able to easily create new members of our species.  Few try such a thing and fewer still survive it.”

Mycroft hated the scent that was filling his nostrils because it was the thing from which he most wanted to protect his lover – fear.

      “Two.  You said there were two possibilities.”

      “I did, though, I am not certain you will find the other to be the more appealing.  If you drink from me, but we take the action no further, there is another condition in which you would find yourself and, for that, survival is ensured.  Actually… you would be protected from sickness and the ravages of age, living a life span equal to mine.  You would heal more quickly from injury, as well.”

      “That sounds a lot better than the other option.”

      “For those aspects, perhaps.”

      “There’s something bad coming, isn’t there?”

      “Once you have taken what I offer, you must continue to do so.  Feeding daily is the most healthy situation, but some individuals can last up to four, even five days without taking their partner’s blood.  Though, from what I am able to discern, it is not at all pleasant for them.”

      “And what if you can’t have your sip?  You lose the benefits until you drink again?”

      “No… you would perish.   It becomes a requirement for survival and you _must_ feed from the one who changed you, no other donor would suffice.”

      “But… you can store blood, right?  You told me a witch can keep blood stored and fresh, so… you’re shaking your head.”

      “It is not possible and believe me that this is not a thing that has failed to receive a tremendous amount of attention.”

      “So, if I take a mouthful of your blood, I can never go anywhere or do anything unless you’re right there with me.  And… if you have to go off somewhere for all that business you do, I’d have to go, too.  I couldn’t stay home and keep doing my job, whatever that might be someday.  I’d be tied to you like a slave with a collar around my neck and my lead in your hand.”

      “I abhor your analogy, but you do have the basic gist of the situation.  However, as father reminded me, thralls are _not_ slaves.  You would have to feed from me, there would be no choice in that, but you would lose none of your will or ability to come and go, so long as it was not for more than a day or two.  I could not compel you to do my bidding or prohibit you from doing anything that you desired.”

      “Thralls… that’s what they’re called?  That’s a horrible name, just so you know.”

      “I do not disagree, but some term, I assume, was required.  You would not be vampire, Gregory, but you would not be human, either.”

This new scent was tinged with a bitter bite that was as unpleasant as the rancid sourness of his fiancé’s fear.  His love liked this option as little as did he, apparently.

      “Gregory…”

      “Look, I need to think about all of this.  It’s a lot to take in.”

      “Of course, my beloved.  I… I shall, of course, give you all of the time you require.”

Mycroft made to rise from the bed, only to find himself pushed back down and given a perplexed look by his lover.

      “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

      “I… I thought you were going to give the matter thought.”

      “Yes, but, I wasn’t asking you to leave!  Part of my thinking’s not about whether or not I want to be with you anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It was _exactly_ what had filled Mycroft’s stomach with a cold, thick mass of worry, but his Gregory had, again, proved the depth of his devotion.

      “I admit, to my shame, that particular thought had crossed my mind.”

      “I can see why it would, but I’m not considering leaving you, Mycroft.  Not at all.  I just… I just didn’t know how difficult this was going to be, you know?  There’s no easy choice in all of that and I didn’t expect any of it.  When do I have to decide?”

The vampire rolled slightly and lined himself up to take Lestrade in slow, simmering kiss, wrapping one leg around his lover’s thigh to pull them as close together as possible.

      “When you choose to do so.  Father suggested we speak with others in our situation and learn their satisfaction with their decisions.  There is no hurry, Gregory, nothing to be set in place before we move forward.  Do not frustrate yourself by dwelling upon it, my love.  You may take years to make your choice and I will support you fully in whatever you decide.  I love you, Gregory, and I want you in whatever way I may have you.”

Lestrade took a deep breath and looked deeply into his vampire’s clear, blue eyes.  This was the man to whom he had pledged his life and that was not something for which he had a speck of regret.  He loved Mycroft and had no doubt that Mycroft loved him just as passionately; that was the most important thing and not something he was going to lose sight of.  Mrs. Hudson said there would be decisions and she was right that this wasn’t something she could be part of.  This was just him and Mycroft and what was best for _them_.  What would give them the most happiness.  And that _wasn’t_ going to be something he could decide now.  Especially with Mycroft running a cool hand over his bottom while slowly moving his hips to and fro.

      “Are you trying to distract me, you prat?”

      “No, I am simply… rejuvenating.”

And didn’t his vampire practically glow when he was feeling a bit bashful and naughty?

      “Slow, soft and sweet?”

      “I can think of nothing more delightful.”

As the newly-engaged couple fell into another kiss, both let the upsetting aspects of their new status race from their mind and focused on the brilliant, nigh on miraculous thing they had won.  There would be plenty of nights ahead for worry and discussion, but now, this night was for celebration.  As many times as was possible before the sun rose in the sky…


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was purring or humming, but there was a gentle rumble in his chest and throat that was doing a very good job of helping his lover enjoy the hour of sleep he had been taking.  Could tonight have been any more glorious?  Making prolonged and passionate love to his Gregory, multiple times and in multiple ways, until his fiancé was utterly exhausted, but wearing an inerasable smile on his lips.  Which lingered even now and would have again inflamed the vampire’s libido, if this wasn’t such a tender and loving moment.  Lying quietly, with his fiancé in his arms… it was an experience as fulfilling as any he could possibly imagine.

And this was only their first night.  There were countless more to come and he could already feel each one etched into his soul.  All that remained was to greet those nights as they arrived and celebrate them properly.  With his husband.  The man to whom he was wed.  Blissfully bound in marriage.  Gregory had accepted him, staid and plain as he was, knowing the harsh decisions that must someday be made, and he was still in a state of near disbelief over the fact.  Knowing you are loved, knowing you are desired… it is a profoundly different thing as having it proven in such a permanent and consequential manner.  Quickly… as quickly as Mummy and Father could arrange it, the wedding should be conducted.  Now that the question had been asked and answered, his and Gregory’s union needed to be solemnized, so they could begin their lives together as a wedded couple.  His desires… and nerves… could accept no less.

      “Someone’s happy.”

Mycroft grinned and placed a kiss on the top of Lestrade’s head.

      “I am with you; therefore, that condition is assured.”

      “Me too, I… _ow_ …”

Mycroft swallowed down his sharp surge of panic and readied himself to carry his lover to the nearest healer.

      “Gregory?  What is wrong?  Where do you hurt?  Can you move the impaired limb?”

      “Mycroft, it’s nothing, really.   I just… my neck aches a little.”

Mycroft peered down as Lestrade turned his head and cursed his inattentiveness.

      “Ah, yes.  I am afraid I was not as solicitous with your care early in our explorations as is appropriate.  I am so sorry, my love.”

The vampire ran his finger along the two puncture marks on Lestrade’s neck from their first frenzied encounter of the evening, wondering how he had forgotten and _continued_ to forget their healing.  In deep and ugly truth, his feral brain likely both noticed and approved of the clear marking.

      “It’s fine, Mycroft.  Can’t say I really mind, either.  There won’t be a person I meet today who won’t know some of what I was doing last night even before they even see _this_.”

Lestrade held up his hand to admire again the ring on his finger.

      “Though Sherlock and I are not frequent visitors to town, besides Mrs. Hudson’s shop, I feel confident that, between your marks and the ring, it will be very clear with whom your evening was spent.  There _are_ other vampires in the area, though not so near, nor possessed of what my family has been fortunate to acquire over time.”

      “And nothing would make you happier, would it?”

      “Well… if pressed, I _might_ admit to a _miniscule_ amount of smugness.”

Mycroft laughed as Lestrade dramatically rolled his eyes, then the very content vampire slid down slightly to properly kiss his lover good morning.

      “You’re wearing smug like a fine suit, you bastard.”

      “I do strive to be fashionable.”

      “From what you were wearing last night, I have to agree.  Just gorgeous.  Of course, not as gorgeous as what I saw after those clothes landed on the floor.”

Lestrade used his fingers to trace a line up Mycroft’s thigh and over his stomach to rest on his chest.

      “You are the sexiest man in existence and I cannot believe you’re here with me.”

      “That is, rather, my words to you, dear Gregory.  I see you, feel your body against mine, and I find it terribly difficult to believe this is anything but a figment of my imagination.”

      “Well, I’ll get a lot of chances to remind you that this is a very real thing.”

      “That you will.  And, soon, the reminders will occur in what shall be our formal residence.  That is… you still agree to live in one of my, soon-to-be _our_ houses, do you not?  If you have reconsidered, I shall gladly direct the building of something more suitable for…”

      “Calm down, love.  I haven’t changed my mind.  I mean, I do feel a little strange at the thought of living in real house.  This cottage is the best place I’ve stayed since… since I left home, actually.  Safe, private, out of the rain… this has been brilliant.  Something even more brilliant… I can’t even picture such a thing.”

      “Then we shall make it a point to visit the two available residences and you may choose the one you prefer.  Both will require a modicum of time to restore to pristine condition; however, my rooms at home are plentifully spacious to accommodate us both until our permanent home is prepared.”

      “After we’re married, of course.”

      “I… oh.”

      “What?”

      “I… I suppose I assumed you would… you choose to remain here until our nuptials?”

      “Yes.  That’s what’s traditional, right?”

      “No, not necessarily.  Given that vampire families are often sparsely provided in rural regions, an affianced couple often resides together with one set of relations to facilitate the planning of the wedding and preparation of their future household.”

      “Learning all the time…”

      “So, you shall spend these weeks with me?”

      “No.”

      “Gregory!”

      “I’ll help you with all the planning, but human families tend to keep people separated until the wedding and I think that’s what I’d like.  It’s more romantic that way.”

      “How can isolation and desperation possibly be considered romantic?”

      “That part’s rubbish, I admit, but I like the idea of having our wedding and an actual wedding night that’s… especially special.  I plan on taking every chance I get to have my way with you, don’t misunderstand me, but I want that first real night as husbands to be the one where I don’t come back here because I’m starting something new with my life.  Does that make any sense?”

Mycroft packed away the sulk that was threatening to bloom because he, unfortunately, did see the sense and found it held a spark of appeal.

      “It does and I must admit I understand your viewpoint.  As greatly as I desire you now to be part of the family and take our home as your residence, I do appreciate the making of our first night as spouses as momentous an occasion as possible.”

      “I’m glad you understand.  Besides, if I lived so far away, I’d have to get up _very_ early and borrow a horse every day to make it into town for work.”

A topic that Mycroft had prudently avoided discussing, knowing his intended’s pride was not insubstantial.

      “That is certainly an issue to consider.”

      “Will I… well, I suppose my working once we’re married is something that is going to depend on what happens.  With the choice I have to make, I mean.”

“I assure you, my love, that your wants for this life are my joy to protect and I will do everything I can, regardless of what decision you make, to see you able to do whatever it is you wish to do.  Neither a slave, nor a trophy shall you ever be to me, but a true partner, whose hopes and ambitions I consider equal to my own.”

Lestrade smiled and nestled closer to his intended.

“I appreciate that, love, because I do _not_ want to be useless.  I want to do my part, you know?  I realize you have more money than I can count, but that doesn’t mean I want to lay about all day rolling in it.  I want to contribute, too.  Do something with my life that I can be proud of.  Something you can be proud of, too.”

“I am already inexpressibly proud of you, Gregory, and I can envision no situation for which that would ever change.  And I promise that, regardless of what shall come to pass, you shall not be useless.  Never.  I love you too much to ever allow your dignity to be compromised.   Do you… have you an idea of what you would make of your days?  A goal to achieve or particular employment you wish to pursue?”

      “Not really.  I haven’t thought about it, actually.  When you move around as much as I have, taking whatever work you can find, you don’t give much thought to what you want to do.  Just what you _have_ to do.  I’ve always liked farm work, though.  I used to enjoy that when I was small.  Race around the fields and help harvest the crops, even if I could only carry one carrot or cabbage at a time.”

      “Your family farmed?”

      “No, not really.  We… we had a grain mill.  And a storehouse.  But, all the land around us was farmland and I used to help wherever I could.  The mill was hot and noisy and stuffy… I sneezed all the time, too!  The storehouse wasn’t as bad, but there wasn’t much to do that was interesting.  Moving sack after sack of grain.  I preferred being outdoors, even in the winter.  I could work all day, even as a tiny lad, and go to bed with a big smile on my face.  Working in the fields or fixing equipment that had broken… taking the cart and horse to make deliveries… spending time in the nearby villages and towns helping with whatever might need to be done before going back home with new orders.  This has been great, finding this place.  I’m doing a lot of what I always liked to do and having this roof over my head… it’s the happiest I’ve been in years.  And that’s before I even start thinking about you.”

Lestrade kissed his lover and smiled at the thought that he’d soon be able to do this every morning.  Though…

      “You’re not a day person.”

      “Is that some form of riddle, Gregory?”

      “No… I’m just realizing that once we’re married, I’m going to have to be on your schedule.  Huh… I suppose farm work isn’t in my future.”

Something Mycroft, himself, was just realizing, as well.

      “Not necessarily, my love.  You know that I can weather a measure of daylight, so there is no reason I cannot start my day earlier or end my day later than I do normally.  You already have shown a willingness to push your own days later than usual, so I am confident that we can find a schedule that enables us to do the work we enjoy and share time together, as well.”

      “That sounds complicated.”

      “Life generally is.”

      “True.  I suppose that’s one more thing to think about while we get our wedding ready.  I don’t expect you to become someone different for me, either.  You’re right, though.  It’s going to take some thought to make it work the way we want it to.  Luckily, I know you’re very good at thinking.  As well as other things…”

Mycroft startled slightly at the feel of a warm hand stroking an area that was extremely unused to attention, but quickly responded with some small attention to his love’s own appreciative flesh.

      “I am most relieved that you are not dissatisfied with my… other things.”

      “No, not at all.  Feels wonderful, tastes wonderful… perfect, just like the rest of you.  In fact, a little taste sounds very good right now.”

      “I quite agree and I do believe it is my turn.”

Before Lestrade could say a word, Mycroft lifted his fiancé’s body slightly and moved him towards the head of the bed and then slid himself down to try his proverbial hand at something at which, he was very happy to know, his lover was already exceptionally proficient at performing.  And wasn’t the scent especially powerful and decadent here, in this region that simply cried out for his tongue and lips…

      “That feels so good, love.”

The taste was delicious, as well.  Mycroft’s tongue was extraordinarily happy to run up and down his lover’s stiffness, swirling and lapping, having his ears be delighted with the most enchanting sounds as readily as his tongue was luxuriating in the feel and flavor of the fiery, spicy skin.  And to take the luscious morsel into his… oh.  Alright, once again… and to take the luscious morsel into… damn.  One more time… and to take the… BLAST!

      “Mycroft, you ok?”

      “No!  I…”

Mycroft raised his head and exposed his fangs, which refused to stay politely sheathed so he could properly tend to business.  Fortunately, his beloved found his frustration highly amusing.

      “Hah!  My Mycroft has a little dental problem when he gets excited, I see.”

      “Untrue… though for this particular example, I cannot deny it is the case.”

Lestrade laughed at his lover’s annoyed expression and reached down to ruffle his hair.

      “Don’t worry about it.  You can…”

      “Gregory, I want very much to give you the full range of pleasure with which you have gifted me.”

      “I didn’t say to stop.  I was going to give you a few ideas for working around your little problem.”

      “Oh, do carry on then.”

      “I will, as soon as you start using that majestic tongue of yours for something other than talking.”

Which Mycroft did immediately, savoring the low moan he received as a prize for good behavior.

      “You’re a devil, love.  So bloody good at that.  Now, give the rest of my pieces some attention.  They like their own bit of rubbing and a good licking if you have the urge.”

And to encourage that, Lestrade lifted his knees and planted his feet on the bed, something that was granted Mycroft’s complete, enthusiastic  approval.  And prompt action.

      “Yes… oh yes… that feels amazing.  Use those lovely hands, too.”

What an easy thing to accommodate, as Mycroft’s hands were positively tingling to truly explore every bit of his fiancé.  And from the succulent scent of the fluid beginning pool on his Gregory’s belly, it was evident his lover shared his eagerness.

      “Oh god… you’re too fantastic at this.  Thumb… press and roll it around right behind my bollocks.  Just a little lower… ah!  Yes… feels so good…”

As if Mycroft didn’t already know that from the arching of his fiancé’s back and the distant and breathy tone of his voice.

      “Faster?  Can you… yes, just like that… not gonna last long… gonna come… gonna come now… oh… oh, yes…”

The vampire quickly grabbed his lover’s cock and caught some of his release in his mouth, groaning softly at the tantalizing taste that danced upon his tongue.

      “Ok… that was fucking incredible.  Now, my turn.  And I _don’t_ have any fangs.  But, feel free to use yours anytime you’d like.

With a wicked grin spreading across his lips, Lestrade sat up and scooted past Mycroft, nudging his lover off of the makeshift mattress.  Laying with his head hanging over the foot of the bed, Lestrade licked his lips in invitation and Mycroft quickly positioned himself to take his satisfaction with his fiancé’s mouth, starting slowly and shallowly at first, and letting Lestrade guide him into thrusting deeper and faster until his own passions broke and spilled down his beloved’s throat.

Gently pulling back and carefully lifting his lover upwards like a fragile doll, Mycroft returned them both to bed, with his back resting against the wall and Lestrade settled against his chest.  Softly and tenderly, the vampire kissed his fiancé’s neck, then finally used his teeth to slowly feed as he wrapped his arms around Lestrade’s waist and held him close.  It was a pleasurably long time before he released the man he loved, who was as bonelessly relaxed and content as a cat near a hearth.

      “I love you, Gregory.  Boundlessly and endlessly.”

      “I love you, too.  And I’ll tell you that every day because I don’t want you to ever doubt it for one second.  And do you have any idea why getting punctured by a vampire feels so fucking good when it should hurt like hell?”

Mycroft leaned back and chuckled, moving his hands to wrap around Lestrade’s chest.

      “Which went a long way towards our reputation as a race of vile and wretched seducers.  It is, I believe, some material in our saliva, perhaps that which helps heal the wounds we make, which I did remember to tend to, this time.  I assume it is to keep our prey docile and willing as we feed from them.  Mother is a very keen student of evolutionary trends among species so you might ask her for further elucidation.”

      “I might at that.  It doesn’t really matter though, I suppose, since I think it’s marvelous and that’s what really counts.  I am a very, very lucky man.”

      “I rather believe I am the lucky one, but I am amenable to sharing the title with you.”

Lestrade turned his head slightly to beg a kiss and was quickly granted a soft peck on his lips.

      “I can live with that.  Speaking of living… the sun’s going to be coming up soon.  That’s your signal to leave.”

      “I scoff at the sun.”

The extremely manly giggling lasted only a few moments, if it existed at all.

      “Yeah, but you should be getting to bed.  You’ve still got to fly home, don’t forget.”

      “Actually, I _am_ in bed and most happy about the fact.”

      “For sleep, you silly jester.”

      “I would look _very_ dashing in an elaborate cap and pointy shoes.”

There must be some form of trickster spirit in the cottage because it was a sure thing that this second round of giggles did not come from the mature and virile men on the bed.

      “That you would.  You’d look dashing in anything.  Or nothing.  I really like the nothing option very much.”

      “Then I shall do my best to practice a philosophy of nudity in our private rooms when our home is ready to inhabit.”

      “Keep talking like that and we’re going to be in this bed for a very long time.”

      “I have no objection to that.”

      “I don’t either, really, but you need to sleep.  I bet you have something important to do tonight that you have to be in top shape for, don’t you?”

Mycroft laid a kiss on Lestrade’s shoulder and felt a different type of satisfaction than he’d already enjoyed in abundance this evening.  This satisfaction was with the certainty that his beloved partner would support his work and various projects, something that would make the rigors and stresses of his future far easier to bear.

      “I _was_ slated to participate in certain meetings; however, Father has exempted me from business affairs for awhile so that we might celebrate our happiness without fetters.”

      “Are those meetings important?”

      “We are hoping to discuss strategies to ensure safe passage of both travelers and our trade convoys through a certain mountainous region that is currently beset by some rather unruly gangs of ruffians.  Father hopes to make a financially-beneficial arrangement with the towns of the area to bolster their interest in improving the effectiveness of their efforts to eradicate the troublesome element.”

      “Who are probably people they know, anyway.”

      “Oh, very good.  And undeniably correct.  Fortunately, those of questionable morals are easy to control by their greed.  At least until we can secure their removal to positions of lesser importance in their communities and see those with more… agreeable… viewpoints installed in their place.”

      “Then you’ve got to be there.  I know your dad has a brilliant mind, but you should be there, too.  You’re keen and observant and clever and… the smartest person anywhere without a doubt and if you’re in the thick of things I know it’s all going to go the way you want.  It’s important, what you’re trying to do, and it needs to be done right.  If you’re there, there’s no question that’s going to happen.”

Mycroft puffed with pride and had to concede his Gregory knew very well the gears and levers put manage to orchestrate his influence.

      “And you will take no refusal?”

      “Love, I spent a lot of time dodging and running from bands of bastards like you’re describing.  Got caught now and again, too, and suffered the bruises when I didn’t have anything for them to steal.  Go and get a good day’s sleep so some other poor bloke doesn’t have to go through what I did.”

The vampire held his lover more tightly and put the image of Lestrade taking a beating as far out of his mind as he could.  If he didn’t, there was more than a slight chance the cozy cottage would quickly be reduced to splinters.

      “I shall bow to your wisdom and kindheartedness.  But… I am not happy with the idea of being without you for such a prolonged period of time.”

      “How many nights are your meetings scheduled for?”

      “One.”

Lestrade made a rude noise and swatted his fiancé’s leg.

      “I think you’ll survive.”

      “I do not share your confidence.”

Mycroft pouted grandly and Lestrade was happy he’d turned around to see it in its full glory.

      “Well, after tonight, I’ll need all the rest I can get by the time I come home, so I wouldn’t be much use to you anyway.  I’ll see you tomorrow night, though, right?  If you’d like… I can visit _you_.  I can take a day without work to spend the night with you doing whatever we’d like and then sleep while the sun shines.  I admit it’ll be a little strange sleeping there with your parents in the house, but your room seemed to be in a fairly quiet part of the house…”

The vampire smiled and his eyes lit up brightly at the idea.

      “I would greatly enjoy that, Gregory.  And do not worry that Mummy and Father will have any objection to your stay.  They likely believe, as I did, that you would very soon be a resident and sharing my bed, in any case.  I shall bring the horses again, so that we might ride together.”

      “That sounds good.  Now, it’s really getting late.  Or early.  Or whatever.  Let’s get ourselves clean and you moving towards a little sleep.”

      “Very well.  Will you be alright today, my dear?  You must be most fatigued.”

      “I’ll be fine.  I’m not working for the baker today, but he makes very strong tea and keeps a kettle hot so I’ll stop in for a cup before I go out to the fields.  I’m going to miss you, love, but we’ll be together again, soon.  And I get to look forward to a whole day of telling everyone that I’m an engaged man.”

The honest and gleeful pride on his Gregory’s face almost brought tears to Mycroft’s eyes.  To love someone was a powerful feeling, but to _be_ loved… that was something altogether different.

      “If any further proof is required, I shall gladly supply it at the first possible opportunity.”

      “Possessive bastard.  But, I can’t say I have a problem with that.  Now, move your lovely self so I can scrub you clean.  Can’t send you home sticky.”

Mycroft made a show of wiping his hands on Lestrade’s belly and delighted in the way it shook when his fiancé laughed.

      “Your mum would have my hide if I sent you back covered in our nice evening.  Poor Sherlock would be scarred for life.”

      “You raise a valid point.  I give you complete freedom to run your hands over any part of my person you believe requires your cleansing touch.”

      “And again, you make me want to stay in this bed another few hours so my hands can make your person as happy as I can, but I’m going to prove just what a stubborn man I can be and do this.”

Lestrade hopped up raised his arms in triumph, collapsing into another fit of giggles, when Mycroft used the exposed posture to reach out and wiggle a very enticing piece of his fiancé’s anatomy.

      “Lecherous vampire.”

      “My lusts have been most quiescent, my dear, until my path crossed that of yours.”

      “Again, something I have absolutely no problem with.  Now, do you think you can behave long enough for a little clean up?”

      “I’m afraid the probability is not robust.”

      “This is my life now.  For all my sins, this is my life.”

      “Which is why you are the heretofore established very, very lucky man.”

      “Exactly.”

__________

Mycroft landed as far away from the likely locations of his parents and his brother and crept quietly through the house, wondering occasionally about the faint blue flash that appeared at times on the floor until he turned the final corner towards his rooms and found his whole family standing in wait and a blue glow dancing around his brother’s fingertips.

      “You enchanted the corridors to alert for my arrival.  This invasion of my privacy shall not go unaddressed, brother dear.”

      “Mummy paid me to do it.  Save your flaccid and impotent wrath for the swordsman, not the sword.”

Sherlock’s smug grin was punctuated by a quick poke of his tongue out towards his brother, who would have given all of his personal wealth for one handful of dung to lob at the offending protuberance.

      “How shamefully disrespectful, Mummy.  Truly, I shall have to notify Gregory that his presence shall not be possible in my home, owing to the complete lack of decorum exhibited by this family.”

      “I shall not apologize for my interest in my son’s future.  Now… report.”

      “Certainly not.”

      “Mycroft Holmes, you will reveal your news this instant!”

      “No.”

      “Mycroft, stop teasing your mother.  Allay her curiosity so I might actually see some sleep today.”

Unfortunately, as Mycroft well knew, if he didn’t supply the information his parents were demanding, sleep would not be something he would find today, either, despite his fiancé’s best intentions.

      “Very well.”

Of course, sharing his information was not as easy as he had imagined, since a mass of emotion had risen in this throat and he required a moment to clear it away before he could continue.

      “Gregory… Gregory has consented to be my husband.”

In his nearly 200 years of life, Mycroft had never heard his mother and father yell quite so loudly, even after some of Sherlock’s more nefarious doings.  He was also not expecting the gargantuan hug he was forced to suffer from each of his parents, before they stood back and simply quivered excitedly with large grins turned in his direction.

      “I take it the news meets with your approval.”

      “We are so happy for you, Mycroft.  Your father and I are utterly thrilled and are extremely anxious to take your Gregory into our family.  When shall he become part of the household?  I imagine it will not take much effort to pack his belongings if he has led the life of a traveler.”

      “Gregory shall retain his residence until we are formally wed.  It is a human tradition he chooses to honor and I support his decision.”

      “How romantic!  That will certainly make your wedding day something very special.”

      “That is very much in line with Gregory’s thinking.”

      “A man with a romantic streak is a truly wonderful thing, Mycroft.  You are wondrously blessed.  Just as am I.”

Mycroft and Sherlock both choked back the nausea from seeing their mother kiss their father and Sherlock stormed into Mycroft’s rooms to avoid any further exposure to wayward ardor.

      “Yes, well… whether Gregory is or is not romantic is immaterial to the fact that I love him and will marry him as soon as the wedding can be conducted.  I trust I can count on you both to make the ceremony arrive in a timely fashion.”

      “Oh Mycroft… you are absolutely adorable when you are eager for something.  And yes, your father and I will see the ceremony arranged as soon as feasible.  Some guests will have to travel a fair distance to reach us, so we will send the invitations immediately and begin the preparations.”

      “Good.  And Gregory shall not be ignored in the planning process, shall he?”

      “He shall be given exactly as much say in the matter as you.”

Somehow, Mycroft did not find his mother’s assurance entirely… reassuring.

      “See that is the case.  Now, if you will excuse me, I am greatly fatigued and our matters this evening require that I be clear of mind and refreshed of body.”

      “In that case, son, you might remember to order a hot bath.”

Mycroft glared at his father, who was tapping his nose in a most impertinent manner and quickly joined Sherlock in storming off to prevent any further sullying of his sensibilities by his parents’ jocularity.  When the bedroom was solidly closed, the older pair took a moment to waltz happily and share a long kiss.  Their son was getting married!  Their last vestige of worry had vanished and now the wedding plans could go forward at full speed.  And Mycroft was certainly correct… full speed should be very fast, indeed.  The sooner the knot was tied, the quicker their son could start his married life and find the bliss _they_ had enjoyed for so long.  And would certainly celebrate as soon as they could dance their way to the master suite…

__________

      “Ugh… I have no idea what has possessed our parents, but I am working tirelessly to exorcise it.  They have become intolerable!”

      “I agree, Sherlock.  My impending wedding seems to have released an untapped well of foolishness and I shall happily assist you in providing the bricks and mortar to dam it once more out of sight.”

Mycroft shrugged off his jacket and made note that the upset on his brother’s face had yet to abate.

      “Sherlock… is something wrong?”

      “No.  Why would anything be wrong?”

      “I do not know.  You simply appear discontent and I wondered why.”

      “Why would I be discontent, just because you are ruining your life by marrying a transient?”

Mycroft had an angry reply on the tip of his tongue, but something in his brother’s tone told him that the issue was _not_ his Gregory’s former lifestyle.

      “Gregory did not choose the life he has led, Sherlock, and he was forced to do so by exceptionally disheartening circumstances.  He has subsequently led an honest and diligent existence, though, as you say, he has not possessed a safe and secure place to call his home.  It is my honor and my joy now to be able to provide that to him.”

And that especially agitated flicker in Sherlock’s eye gave Mycroft the puzzle piece he was missing.  Walking over to sit next to Sherlock on the bed which his brother had been kicking over and over with his heels, Mycroft patted the young vampire’s leg and gave him his most comforting smile.

      “Sherlock… are you concerned that my marriage will somehow leave you abandoned or forgotten?”

      “NO!  That is… I have never heard anything so asinine.”

Meaning yes, Mycroft’s arrow had struck true.

      “Alright, though it would not be unexpected for you to feel that way.”

      “It would not?  I mean… I am perfectly aware of that fact.”

      “Of course.  But if that _were_ a concern, I would remind you that Gregory and I shall reside only a moderate flight from this place.  Both of our potential homes are easily accessible and, if we decide to build something new, it shall be at no greater distance than either of the existing options.”

      “I have no intention of burdening myself with the effort of travel only to be gifted with nothing but your unappealing appearance.”

      “Yes, that _would_ be a meager reward for your suffering.  Truly, we might need to find something else to bestow upon you for your gracing us with your presence.  And, naturally, I shall be here many, if not most, nights for matters of business.  I expect, actually, that Gregory shall bemoan my neglect, at times, when Father and I are engaged in a protracted negotiation.  I suspect, on those occasions, he might appreciate the company of an intelligent and interesting individual.  One who would enjoy describing his latest research results, perhaps.”

Sherlock cut his eyes towards his brother and examined him closely for any evidence of mockery, but found not a mote.

      “ _Anyone_ would find conversation with me enjoyable.”

      “Doubtless.  That is why I am certain that you could be of great help to Gregory during those stressful times.  I love him with my whole heart, Sherlock, but that does not mean, in any manner, that your and my relationship shall waver and I am hopeful that you will forge one equally strong with my husband.”

      “The thought is appalling.”

Though, from his brother’s tiny, nearly-invisible smile, Mycroft harbored some doubt about the truth of that statement.

      “Be that as it may, I shall still hold out hope.  Now, Gregory shall visit tomorrow night and I am quite certain he would welcome spending time with you.  I am of a mind that a visit to our possible residences would be a productive and pleasant use of time and you are very welcome to accompany us.”

      “I shall!  And if I find space that would be useful as an ancillary laboratory, I shall claim it in the name of the advancement of knowledge!”

      “I find myself experiencing no surprise at that proclamation.  I do, however, find myself experiencing a great deal of fatigue and hear loudly the call of my bed.  With your kind permission, I shall answer it and we may continue our discussions in the evening.”

      “Your lack of physical stamina does not bode well for your intimate life with Lestrade.”

Oh, how dearly Mycroft wanted to rebut that slander, however, decided to spare his brother’s tender ears the details of his argument for both their sakes.

      “I shall take a more serious approach to my post-breakfast constitutionals.”

      “See that you do.  I do not wish to have to console your frustrated lover because you cannot satisfy his sordid desires.”

Sherlock hopped off of the bed and strode imperially towards the bedroom door.

      “Good morning, Sherlock.  I do hope you sleep well.”

      “I will, once the stench of your undoubtedly-feeble debauchery clears my nostrils.”

Sherlock luckily moved fast enough to close the door before the pillow projectile knocked his waifish form to the ground.  Mycroft shook his head and pitied poor Sherlock that he did not recognize the perfume of freely-expressed adoration.  However… a hot bath _would_ be a very soothing thing when he woke.  Only to limber his muscles, of course.  Certainly not to erase the rather pungent musk of primal sexuality that clung to his skin as tightly as he had clung to his Gregory’s body during the throes of their passion.  That was far too comforting a scent to ever want expunged.  Though, enjoying it in private might be a more considerate situation for those who had not such a _potent_ lover in their lives…


	10. Chapter 10

Well, that was the right way to start the morning.  A large, free breakfast and several cups of strong tea from the baker to celebrate his engagement was more than he’d expected, but it was a wonderful thing, nonetheless. The baker and his wife had been terribly happy to hear his news and congratulated him the whole time he was there for finding a good catch like Mycroft.  Said Mycroft was lucky to have _him_ , too.  It had been a brilliant hour of food and conversation and it that was something that he’d… well, he’d needed it.

Last night had been beyond belief, there was no doubt about it. He was getting married!  Him!  He, of all people had found the most wonderful man in the world and that man wanted to be his husband.  Once Mycroft had left, he’d jumped back into bed for a few minutes to simply let that thought settle into his brain and, though not for the first time in his life, felt a harsh pain in his heart because he had nobody to share the news with.  No one to run to wake up by yelling out his announcement.  No one to be happy for him or proud that he’d kept his life from falling to tatters and, as a bonus, found a caring, passionate, funny, intelligent person to share it.  He’d long ago lost the sharp ache that made his stomach clench and heart stutter when he thought about his family, but it had flared again knowing that only people he had loved, besides Mycroft, would never know about his joy.

But, the baker was happy to hear his good fortune.  Made him tell the whole story about meeting his fiancé and falling in love… who knows, maybe other people would be interested, too.  The other farm lads would probably laugh, the tossers, but they might be happy for him, anyway.  The tavern owner and the girls who worked there might be excited for him, as well.  They already knew he was ‘friendly’ with Mycroft and teased him about that friendship having a few extra benefits, so they might have a giggle that his ‘friend’ was going to be his husband.  A husband who very much liked nibbling and leaving a mark so everyone knew it was hands-off of Greg Lestrade if they knew what was good for them.  Yeah, they’d have a right laugh over that.  But that was good, right?  Meant you were happy and he sort of _needed_ people to be happy for him right now.  It was silly, but… sometimes life was silly and that was the end of that.

__________

Mycroft soaked a long while in his bath and thanked, for the first time, the draining effects of the sun on his kind.  Without that, he likely would have seen no sleep at all this day.  So many ways in which his mind was drawn and all of them making sleep slow and difficult to come.  But come it finally did, though not by his own effort and, thanks to the will of nature, he was going to meet the day with some measure of rest to fortify him.

Among the factors that had robbed him of needed sleep was the feeling that sleeping was wrong.  Incomplete.  In his large, soft bed he felt not as comfortable as when he lay upon his Gregory’s small and hard one and that was solely due to his fiancé’s notable absence.  How utterly perfect it was to have his lover wrapped in his arms; there was a peace in the act that he had never before experienced and he positively ached to experience it again.  Tonight, that would not occur, nor the day that followed.  But the night… tomorrow night, his fiancé would enjoy with him a night and day much as they would witness over and over in their life together, a template, really, for their future domestic life.  In their own home, they would luxuriate in bed as long as they desired, then take on whatever challenge the night had to offer.  Or day.  He had not and would not forget or dismiss his love’s concerns for they were both valid and substantial.  His own affairs were very much nocturnal, but Gregory’s… there would have to be a careful examination of possible compromises and an unhappy sourness threatened to form in his stomach from the knowledge that his fiancé would likely have to take the more meager portion of their agreement.  What _he_ must do was not necessarily his to schedule and, ultimately, Father determined the calls upon his time.  Calls which would only increase in frequency and duration as the years passed.

Finally dragging himself out of the tub, the young vampire quickly dressed and made his way to find breakfast and avoid his brother, who was, apparently, not content to remain unfound.

      “There you are!  I am starving!  My body mass is plummeting and you are entirely at fault!”

      “I do apologize.  Were you planning to suckle from my breast?”

Sherlock hit the floor with an audible thud and Mycroft sighed as he stepped over the body to move towards the family dining room.

      “How dare you ignore my agonizing death!”

      “Because it was neither agonizing, nor a death.  Now, if your hysteria was an attempt to express that you were waiting for me to share breakfast with you, then I suggest you find some form of effective locomotion and follow along.”

Sherlock’s snarl was growing quite impressive, in Mycroft’s opinion, and he patiently suffered his brother’s thunderous gaze while they walked to breakfast.  As he had done nearly every morning of Sherlock’s life.

      “Ah, here we are.  And lo… behold the bounty of delights waiting for us on the sideboard.”

      “ _Now_.  The kitchen staff was most sluggardly providing my meal choices.”

      “So, you already notified them you were prepared to eat.”

      “I did!  And I was given nothing but an empty plate and their contempt!”

      “May I know how you made your readiness for breakfast known to them?”

      “I used a ladle to sound a signal on a cook pot.”

      “That you find such an acceptable method of communication baffles me completely.”

      “It his _highly_ acceptable!  My message was clearly delivered and understood; however, the traitors refused to obey my will.  If they receive even a speck of wage after this treachery, I shall be extremely displeased.”

Given that Sherlock’s concert was likely accompanied by a shrill serenade of insulting epithets, a few bottles of wine sent to the kitchen as a peace offering would not be amiss.

      “Well, the issue is resolved and in what appears to be a very delicious manner, so do pack away your ire and enjoy your meal.”

Sherlock snatched his plate and began piling it with an amount of food that could fuel a team of horses for a extended run.

      “Good heavens, brother!  Are you currently hosting a tapeworm?”

      “Not this week.  However, I have a tremendously complicated and rigorous ritual to perform this evening and I must be well-provided with energy.”

How delightful.  After breakfast he must remember to notify the staff to take a few hours off and travel a safe distance from the house.

      “And the purpose of your ritual?”

      “Transmutation.”

Oh, that old chestnut.

      “Sherlock, I was of a mind that the alchemists had already taken on the challenge of transforming lead into gold.”

      “That assembly of enrobed barley-brains has made no appreciable progress, owing to both their lack of intelligence and dismal technical skill.  I, however, shall prevail.”

      “Well, Mummy will be happy if you do.  Father, also.”

      “I care not about their approval.  I care about a ready supply of gold for my experiments.  Silver, as well.  Father is shamefully tight-fisted with my allowance and, after I have purchased my supplies, I have nothing left for experimental purposes.”

      “Sherlock, you do remember Father’s tight-fistedness originated from your melting down a king’s ransom of gold to fashion a chest to store your supply of phoenix down.”

      “It is highly sensitive!  The slightest impurity in its environment and all of its useful properties are corrupted!”

      “Of course they are.  However, I am most certain we could have found an appropriate vessel besides something that, if sold, could purchase a very well-appointed home.  But, I shall wish you success with your experiment in the spirit of brotherly solidarity.”

      “If you felt a mote of brotherly solidarity, you would already be ordering the provisions for my accessory laboratory in your new home.”

      “If I knew exactly what and where that would be, I would consider your suggestion.  However, the choice is still to be made, so we shall table that action for the time being.”

      “I shall not forget, if that is your hope.”

      “Perish the thought.  Now, I have a rather full agenda this evening… do you have sufficient diversions to pass the time?”

      “My rite could take several hours, barring the spontaneous eruption of lightning strikes, which would slow my progress significantly.  Subsequent to that, depending on my degree of success, I do have a new book on wand craft that I wish to study.”

      “Very well.  I will try and check in on you when I have the opportunity.”

      “I shall leave a protective amulet outside of my laboratory.  Use it if you hear anything that resembles a thunderstorm.”

      “Thank you for your concern for my safety.”

      “Pfft.  If you were to perish from one of my experiments, Father would unquestionably curtail my allowance even further and that would be devastating for my research.”

Mycroft speared a particularly succulent piece of fruit and flicked it with admirable aim directly between Sherlock’s eyes.

      “This is reportable as an assault!”

      “Feel free to add it to your existing list.”

      “I shall!  Already the length of parchment dangles from tabletop to floor!”

      “I believe I am rather proud of that.”

Sherlock huffed and concentrated of eating his breakfast as rapidly as possible, but Mycroft decided to take his time and savor the quiet before diving into the night’s work.  There would likely be a great number of raised voices, from the opposite side of the bargaining table, and that was never an invigorating experience.  Fortunately, for tomorrow night, any shouting or screaming would have a far more pleasurable foundation and be a very, very welcome thing indeed…

__________

Ok, that was a little more than he’d bargained for.  But in a very, very, very good way.  It seemed that everyone he told about his upcoming marriage felt it necessary to hug him and sit him down for a long talk about his fiancé and their romance.  Had to tell his story of meeting Mycroft and falling in love over and over and show off his ring… and his marks.  The tavern girls and his mates in the fields were especially eager to get a look at those.  And talk about he’d gotten them.  _And_ ask if he had any others in places they couldn’t see.  Nosy bastards.  But, it _did_ feel nice to have something that other people would be nosy, and a bit envious, about.  Of course, he’d said yes.

And now, if he could just…

      “Gregory Lestrade!  You had best not be trying to sneak away like a cat that’s knocked over the milk!”

… deliver the small keg of special beer the tavern owner owed Mrs. Hudson for her itchy-foot cream, without getting sat down for a long talk when he was exhausted and just wanted to get home.

      “Wouldn’t dream of it.  Special stuff, this is, and I have to make sure it’s delivered right into your hands.”

And the second the witch came out into the front of the shop, positive visual identification could be made and that satisfied Lestrade’s terrible lie quite nicely.  Of course, the ‘here it is!, set keg down and make a mad dash’ plan didn’t work when the front door of the shop seemed to have forgotten how to open.

      “Don’t even try, lad, you’ll just embarrass yourself.  Besides, my feelings are already horribly hurt and I think you have an idea why.”

The long talk had officially begun.

      “First… you already know, knew before I did, now didn’t you, so don’t tell me about any hurt feelings about not being told.  Besides… Mycroft and I wanted to tell you together.  He’s going to meet me at the cottage tomorrow and we were going to come here before we went to his house for the night.  Thought it would be more proper that way, rather than just one of us telling you our news.  But, if you insist…”

Lestrade reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring that he’d taken off his finger and put it back on, lifting his hand for Mrs. Hudson to get a look at his new bauble.

      “Mycroft and I are getting married.  He asked me last night and I said yes.”

The excited jig Mrs. Hudson broke into was impressive for even a young woman and Lestrade couldn’t hold back his own grin at the sight.  Yes, he had people who were happy for him.  He’d never thought it would happen again in this life, but he’d landed in a place where he fit and that felt so bloody marvelous he couldn’t begin to put it into words.

      “My boys are getting married… I couldn’t be more excited for you!  When are you moving in?”

Not this again!

      “I’m not!  Not until we’re married.  He already tried to convince me and I held firm.”

      “I’m sure you held firm, dear, but let’s not talk about your… personal practices.  It’s not nice to brag to lonely old ladies.  So when’s the wedding?”

This was _exactly_ why he tried to cut and run as quickly as possible.

      “I don’t know precisely, but I doubt it will be a long ways away.”

      “Oh, I doubt that, too.  Mycroft’s mother is going to make certain of that.  Get her little boy properly married as quickly as possible so he can’t overthink things and make a mess of it.  Now… did you by any chance have a talk about certain decisions you’re going to need to make?”

      “Yes… not that it was a very pleasant conversation.  Are those really the only choices?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at the young man, but wished she had a happier answer to give him.

      “I’m afraid so.  Three and three alone.  Well, four if you count just walking away from each other, but I know that’s not an option you’re likely to take.

      “Not a chance.  I love Mycroft and I’m going to grab whatever chance I can have to be with him.  Even… even if I don’t particularly like some of the consequences.”

Hated, was more like it, but if he’d learned anything over the past seven years it was that nothing ever happened that didn’t come with a price, even things you wanted with all your heart.

      “Well, you’ve got time to make any decisions and there are plenty of other things you have to worry about in the meantime.  All sorts of details to work out, things to do…”

Don’t cock that eyebrow at me, you evil old thing.  As if I didn’t know how much had to be done, and in how short a time.

      “Yeah, I know, you don’t have to remind me.  And Mycroft did say I didn’t have to rush to make any decisions, so I can focus on other things right now and leave that bit of misery for another day.”

      “Very wise.  Now, come here and give me a hug, then you can be on your way.  You positively stink of needing to sleep.  It almost masks the ‘I had lots and lots of sex with a vampire’ smell, which could be considered a good thing, I suppose.”

Lestrade wondered how much bad luck he would earn if he strangled a witch and decided, that as a newly-engaged man, it wasn’t worth the risk.  Walking forward and wrapping his arms around the older woman, Lestrade got a long, firm squeeze in return and a peck on his cheek for good measure.

      “I am foolishly happy for you, Greg.  If anyone deserves a little happiness in their lives it’s you and I can’t think of anyone better able to give that to you than Mycroft.  Now, be off with you and get some sleep.  You need to be your prettiest for your fiancé tomorrow night and big saggy bags under your eyes isn’t going to help with that.”

With a swat on his bum, Greg was hustled out the now-functioning door, mostly so he didn’t see Mrs. Hudson getting a little teary-eyed.  It had been so long since she’d had something to genuinely be excited over.  Little Mycroft had found a husband.  That adorable ginger tyke was going to be a married man and was marrying someone worthwhile, too.  Good, solid lad who would always be honest and true, devoted and loving… with a hefty amount of common sense and respect for good hard work.  They were going to make a wonderful couple… simply a _wonderful_ couple.  Just had to work out a few bugs, but what new couple didn’t have a bump or two to deal with early on.

Now, she really had to get to work on a suitable wedding present…

__________

If the cabin hadn’t been within sight, Lestrade wasn’t certain he wouldn’t just lie down on the ground and take a little nap before continuing on.  He was so tired!  There was nothing left in his legs and he was fairly sure he was moving forward on will alone.  But, there was a bed waiting that would still smell of his fiancé and a nice pot of soup he’d left over the embers to do what it was going to and all it would need was to be brought nice and hot to fill his stomach before he slept like a dead man.

Embers.  He’d left the fire well and truly ember-y when he’d left.  Definitely not enough heat or flame for smoke to be coming out of the chimney like that.

      “What the… Sherlock?”

      “Oh no, the house has regained its mouse.”

The small boy was sitting at the small table, reading a small book that appeared to be written in a frantic and messy hand.

      “What in the world are you doing here?”

      “I was bored and I also wanted to test my curse-detection spell.”

Lestrade decided against acting on the urge to pinch the child to verify that this was not already a sleep-induced hallucination and chose a more verbal means of inquiry instead.

      “What in the hell are you going on about?”

      “Occasionally, someone is sufficiently stupid to send father a gift that is actually a cursed object and I have devised a spell to detect them.  Already I have ensured my own rooms were clear and since I care not for Mycroft’s rooms, decided to investigate this hovel, as it surely housed witches of such unpleasant demeanors that some vengeful peasant purchased a curse to be set upon it.”

      “Your house is as big as the town and you had to come and check here.  Really?  Try to at least come up with a better lie next time.  Though… did you find anything?”

      “I am not dissembling!  One must test experimental incantations under the most rigorous of circumstances and this was the most probable location for doing so!  Already my night was soured by the failure of my transmutation ritual and I had hoped to salvage some useful results from my recent efforts for other avenues of research.  And no… I have not found anything as of yet, but I have only recently arrived and have not completed my experiments.”

      “Oh, your experiments are most _certainly_ completed.  I’m not letting you go about turning all my things into frogs or something by accident.”

      “Frogs… how cliché.”

      “Cliché or not, it’s not happening.”

      “The spell has no adverse impact on anything on which it might be used, not that you own anything of worth about which to be concerned.”

      “No.”

      “You shall not impede my research!  It is vital and your riffraff belongings are not!”

      “You’re not tossing around spells in my house and that’s that.  There are no curses here, anyway.  Nothing for you to play with in my pack or up the chimney, so you can stay and have a little soup and tea, now that you kindly got the fire going, but there will be no curse detection business.  Nope.  Not allowed.”

      “Your skull density approaches that of Mycroft’s, which I thought impossible since he has a veritable block of iron for a cranium.”

      “Lovely, one more thing that makes us a perfect couple.  Now, if you want to stay and visit awhile, I’ll make you a little snack.  It should be about time for what… lunch for you?”

      “I suppose.  Time means little to me.”

      “Well, it does to me.  Long day of work and then I was at the tavern a lot later than usual, so I’m _very_ aware of the time.”

      “A drunkard.  Why am I not surprised?  Father’s wine cellar will be depleted in a fortnight of you boring like a tick into flesh of our family.”

      “Wrong.  I had a lot to do around the tavern tonight and… well, I told everyone about Mycroft and me getting married, so we chatted a long while about that and, I may have had a _couple_ of mugs of ale, but nothing silly and… there’s nothing wrong with a little ale to celebrate your engagement!  So, I was a bit late leaving town.  Even forgot to have a free at-work nibble because we were having such a nice time and, believe me, after all the times I’ve not seen food for days, that’s not something that happens without a _very_ good reason! Then I had to make a quick stop at Mrs. Hudson’s shop, which took me out of my way to come home and put me even later.  Here… have a little soup and calm your humors.”

Sherlock looked into the bowl placed in front of him and poked at it hesitantly with his spoon.

      “Appalling.  If there is not both a dog _and_ its excrement in here, I shall be greatly surprised.”

      “Actually, it’s a little rabbit and lot of vegetables, but you can pretend it’s whatever you want it to be.”

      “Ugh.  Peasant food.  I shall likely not survive the experience.”

      “If it helps, I’ll make sure to see your poor, disappointed body gets home for a proper burial.”

      “Acceptable.”

Lestrade watched as Sherlock took an extremely tentative taste of his soup, then try to hide his shock that he didn’t immediately die from disgust.

      “Not bad, right?  Learned a thing or two about cooking from my mum.  It’s come in handy all these years and carrying around a small pot is an easy enough thing to do.  The hard part is affording something to put in it, though you get lucky now and again and run across something you can gather for free.”

      “Once Mycroft learns of this, he shall likely order cookware and a spit installed in your bedroom so that you might feed his gluttony at any hour of the day or night.  You shall be chained to the hearth as surely as a miser to his money.”

      “Somehow I don’t see that happening.  Your kitchen does a very nice breakfast and I’m sure everything they make is brilliant.”

      “Hah!  You forget that you shall not be living in our house, but in some desolate and inhospitable mausoleum left over from some dusty relative and consigned to Mycroft as penalty for his lifetime of boringness.  If your hands were not already on par with those of a floor-scrubber they would attain that standard before your first week of wedded misery.”

      “Very funny. “

Though, it wouldn’t hurt to see just how funny that really was.

“So… you’ve seen Mycroft’s houses?”

Sherlock’s displeasure was clearly visible and Lestrade breathed a true sigh of relief.

      “Not as such, but with my brother, one cannot expect anything but dreary and dreadful.”

      “That’s a load of rot, that is.  Mycroft’s the most interesting, funny, brilliant man I’ve ever met.”

      “He is the _first_ man you’ve ever met, isn’t he?”

      “Eat your food, you little bastard.  And what’s that you’re doing with your fingers?”

Sherlock quickly dropped his hand under the table and out of Lestrade’s sight.

      “Nothing.  You are suffering a delusion brought on by your tiny brain’s fear of the vast, dark, emptiness of the cavern in which it dwells.”

      “Sherlock… you’re trying that spell, aren’t you?”

      “You cannot compel my answer!”

      “No, but I can take you over my knee and give you a warm bottom!”

      “I must conduct my experiment!”

      “What part of ‘No!’ don’t you understand?”

      “Imbecile!  I am a master of my craft, tonight’s rather… calamitous… beginnings, notwithstanding.  I fail to understand your objection.”

Lestrade rubbed his neck and took a calming breath before answering.

      “Look… I never had a house before, alright?  I mean… since I lost my other one.  Right now, it’s perfect.  You may think it’s worse than a barn, but it’s incredible to me and I don’t want you finding some cursed thing that… I want it to stay incredible and perfect.  Is that so hard to understand?  For once, I have something that’s mine, so to speak, and it’s really and truly great and I don’t want anything ruining it.  I mean… so what if something in here has a curse?  Hasn’t hurt me, has it?  Or you or Mycroft.  Just leave it be, Sherlock.  I know you think it’s crazy, but I’ve had a lot ruined for me in this life.  This is a chance to have something wonderful to _stay_ wonderful…”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, then frowned and shook his head.

      “Sentiment.  I believe I understand.”

      “Thank you.”

      “I do not, however, approve.  That being said, I suppose I can postpone my research until you have fled this stick-based hut for whatever Mycroft is able to fit his elephantine bulk into.”

      “I can live with that.  And your brother’s lean and luscious, so shut it about him being an elephant.  Now, want to tell me about that problem you had earlier with that transportation ritual?”

      “Transmutation!  And, though I am very certain you will not understand _any_ of my discourse, I am not averse to providing you with an educational lecture.”

      “Sounds good.  I’ve never shied away from learning things.”

      “Then prepare for edification.”

      “That sounds painful.”

      “In your case, I suspect it shall be.”

__________

      “Sherlock!  There you are.  Where in the world have you been?”

Mycroft felt a sharp spike of relief seeing his brother strolling into the house through the east garden door and let that relief stay his hand from grabbing the small vampire by his ear and dragging him to his room to begin a prolonged confinement.

      “Your concern drips with insincerity.”

      “You are well aware that is a false claim, brother dear, so kindly answer the question.”

      “I decline.”

      “Sherlock, I am aware you were not in the house for an extended period and that is of grave concern.  There are many dangers in this world and…”

      “The only danger in Lestrade’s ramshackle den is the possibility of contracting lice or fleas.  Well, that and his embarrassing attempts at cookery.”

Mycroft felt his brain flicker on and off and hoped that his mind had not picked this moment to fail him, since his beloved would likely not appreciate a marriage to a particularly dim-witted stone.

      “You… you were at Gregory’s cottage.”

      “And he would not permit me to conduct my research!”

The tangle of this conversation was growing by leaps and bounds . 

      “What research?  You stated in very emphatic terms that your attempts at transmutation were an abject failure.  I believe I still see the vestiges of the electrical burns from your rather, if I may be permitted a small witticism, _shocking_ experience.”

      “Buffoon.  As if that was the only project on which I was working.  And I have _many_ ideas on how to remedy the few minor issues in that particular ritual, which I will enact as soon as my athame ceases to shock me when I touch it.  In any case, my journey to the cottage was for an entirely different matter altogether and the laborer ungraciously refused to grant me free usage of what is, in truth, my property.”

      “Father’s property.”

      “Which shall someday be mine.”

      “If a horrific fate befalls me, then yes.”

      “You are marrying the laborer.  The horrific fate has already befallen you.  I am standing in wait for my spoils.”

      “You shall then be standing for quite some time.  Are you wearing comfortable shoes?”

      “You and he are nauseatingly alike in your inability to communicate with any form of levity or cleverness.  If he were not a slightly-different variety of grotesque than you, I would have been convinced I had never left this prison in the first place.”

And now the reason for Sherlock’s foray beyond these walls slithered from the under the leaves and peeked out to check for predators.

      “Oh… so you found his company as tedious and tiresome as mine?”

      “He is as lacking in interesting topics of conversation as are you, though he further erodes my sanity with his peasant’s patois.”

So, his brother had sought further assurance that a life where Gregory would figure prominently would be an agreeable one.  And that he could actually enjoy an evening where the two of them would not have a third in their party.

      “If I offer you my pity, will that ameliorate to some degree your suffering?”

      “Your pity is valueless to me.  However…”

      “Yes?”

      “A vial or two of thistle-seed oil is not.”

      “I see.  And would Mrs. Hudson offer such a thing for sale?”

      “Most certainly.”

      “Then we shall acquire it for you at our earliest opportunity.”

      “Tonight.”

      “No.  I am still embroiled most deeply in Father’s negotiations.  It is only because your absence was reported that I am not currently with him fulfilling my assigned role.”

      “Then Lestrade shall take me, though we shall have to make a stop in town for him to steal the money required to settle the bill.”

Oh yes, Sherlock was _most_ pleased with the outcome of his visit…

      “Gregory is a man of sterling character and will not stoop to theft for your supplies.  I will see to it that you receive your pacification offering at soon as possible, but I am most certain that you can successfully occupy yourself tonight without that particular item in your inventory.”

      “My research shall grind to a standstill.”

      “Then you are welcome to come with me and study the finer points of property negotiations.  I am certain you will find the lesson most rewarding and that it will inspire in you a nearly volcanic desire to set aside your current pursuits and begin to follow in Father’s and my footsteps.”

 _Sherlock’s_ footsteps were light and nearly silent as he ran at top speed down the corridor towards his laboratory.  What a truly unexpected turn the night had taken, but Mycroft could not be more delighted.  A happy Sherlock was undoubtedly a more beneficial situation for his marriage than an unhappy one.  The quantity of apology and peacekeeping gifts with which he would have to present his husband in the latter case would be such that they would need to add another wing onto their home to house his Gregory’s dragon-esque horde...


	11. Chapter 11

Lestrade gave a little dance of glee at the sound of horses approaching and congratulated himself again for not standing outside to wait for his fiancé…  It would have been silly and made him look desperate and needy.  Which wasn’t exactly inappropriate since he _was_ desperately needing his Mycroft’s touch, but that was entirely beside the point.

The little knock that finally sounded on the door was met by Lestrade’s very respectable attempt at flight, as he covered the space between his bed and the door in one leap and in the next second he was locked in a kiss that threatened to set both young men ablaze.

      “I missed you, Mycroft.”

      “And I missed you, Gregory.  Far more than I can ever truly describe.  How have you been?”

      “Good.  Lots of hard, honest work and spreading around our news.  What could be better?”

Mycroft kissed his lover once again and took the moment to enjoy the both the affection _and_ the sharp spark of pride that his fiancé was so eager to make their engagement known.

      “I can think of nothing.  Are you ready to depart?”

      “Oh, a bit anxious, are you?”

      “Very, in truth.  I have ached each night without you at my side and desire nothing more than to spend every moment I can in your arms.  Though, we _shall_ have to dine with Mummy and Father; they have rather insisted upon it and it is not a good idea to offer our refusal.”

      “Yeah… I suspected that might happen.  Are they… there _are_ alright with you marrying me, aren’t they?”

      “They are best described as ecstatic for our betrothal.  Their jubilation has not ebbed in the slightest since I informed them of your acceptance of my proposal and they are positively enamored of the idea of adding you to our family.  If you have any concern about their approval, my dear, you may lay it to rest this instant.  I believe that as greatly as they feared I would live my life as a bachelor, they feared even more strongly that I would take either a truly disagreeable, wastrel of a spouse or an uninspiring example of the blandest lackluster and have to suffer the offender under their roof for the obligatory family dinners.  That I have taken into my heart a vibrant, intelligent, personable and interesting man has allayed their worries very nicely.”

      “Oh… well, I have to admit I had a _small_ concern in that area.  It’s one thing to have your son getting a little randy with someone, but it’s quite another when they decide to marry him.  They don’t mind that I’m… me?”

      “It is the fact that you are _you_ that has them euphoric, my dear.”

      “Even a human me?”

      “That is not even the slightest concern.  Nor will that change based on what you decide for the course of our lives together.  They are happy that I have found you, Gregory Lestrade, and eagerly anticipate both our wedding and our life as a couple.  Now, let us go and make a start on our night, shall we?  Sherlock is nearly as anxious as are we to survey our possible future residences and the earlier we begin on that project, the earlier we can send him off to tend to his own affairs and leave us free to enjoy the remainder of the time in peace.”

      “You know he came here the other night, right?”

      “After the fact, yes.  The scamp decided to make an escape when there were no eyes upon him.”

      “He’s worried, isn’t he?  About you and me and where he fits, I mean.”

      “Oh, very good.  He is, indeed.  But, perhaps, _was_ is a more accurate term.  I believe that after my reassurances and your willingness to embrace his company that his anxieties have been soothed.  Of course, this does mean you should expect his frequent presence in our home.”

      “That’s alright.  He’s a good lad and comes down from his throne a little if you get him talking.  We had a nice time, actually, so it won’t be a hardship to have him running around whatever our new house is going to be.”

      “A decision, I am hopeful, we will make tonight.”

      “Then let’s get started.  I don’t mind confessing that I’m more than a little excited about this.”

      “As am I.  And we may take all the time we like a tad later on to compare our individual excitement levels.”

      “That sounds a bit filthy.  I hope.”

      “I have a suspicion those hopes are going to be rewarded.”

With a particularly-stunning wicked grin, Lestrade gave his fiancé one last kiss, then pulled him out of the cottage and towards the waiting horses.  The sooner they began, the sooner his rewards would come and he was very much in the mood for some proper rewarding…

__________

      “Well, my dear?”

Mycroft’s nervousness had been increasing incrementally since they’d arrived home, collected Sherlock, and continued on to the first potential house, which was the furthest of the two possibilities and currently coming into view ahead of them, and now he was having a very difficult time bearing the wait for his Gregory’s opinion.

      “It’s massive!”

For his part, Lestrade had expected that what he was going to see was something smaller and more modest than Mycroft’s parents’ home, but… maybe it was a _bit_ smaller, but it was a close race and he suddenly had a feeling of inadequacy begin to scurry up his spine and gnaw at the base of his neck.

      “This… this is really yours?”

      “I should have been given free access from the moment this monstrosity fell into your clutches!”

      “Hush, Sherlock.  And yes, my dear, it is.  It was built for, I believe, great-grandfather’s sister and, since this property is mine, so is the house.”

      “And no one lives here?”

      “Not on a regular basis; however, we occasionally host delegations that prefer to have their own, more private accommodations and Father rents the house from me to use for that purpose.”

      “ _Rent_?  You charge your dad rent?”

      “Of course.  He would think me quite the fool if I did not.  And, not to be immodest, but I do negotiate a very favorable rate.”

Lestrade laughed at his fiancé’s obvious pride and spurred on his horse to get to the door as quickly as possible.  This might not be the lifestyle he was used to or even born to, but it _was_ Mycroft’s and he’d simply have to get used to the luxury and opulence.  That didn’t mean, though, he couldn’t cross his fingers for a little… hominess… on the inside…

__________

There was even _less_ hominess on the inside!  It was the most elegant, flourishy, gold-and-whitey thing he could have ever imagined and the ceilings were about the height of a tree!

      “Ugh… this is diabolically hideous.”

      “The basic décor is something easily amended, brother dear.  It is the overall ambience of the house that is the heart of the issue.  The assortment of amenities, the floor plan, the quality of the fundamental architecture, the grounds… and do remember for whom this was built.  The furnishings and various decorative elements were chosen for a more feminine taste, but short work can be made of anything we wish to change.  Your thoughts, my love?”

Actually, the only thing Lestrade could think was it would take a fortnight just to polish the floor he was standing on since it was the size of one of the fields he’d been harvesting.

      “Ummm… can we see the rest?”

      “Of course!  That is our intended purpose, is it not?  Let us take the tour and garner a more encompassing opinion of the structure.  Sherlock, kindly stay with us for the time being.  I would rather not have to spend the remainder of the night searching for you.”

      “If you and Lestrade become amorous or escalate your already burdensome baseline of boredom, I shall certainly take steps to flee your presence and remain hidden for as long as possible.”

      “Then do not be distressed if you find yourself left behind.  Without your horse.  Or a direction to fly to reach home.”

      “You would not dare leave me stranded!”

      “I do believe there is an assortment of small woodland creatures to hunt if you become peckish.”

Sherlock pouted, but trudged along with the other two as they took in the entirety of the residence, a task that took no small amount of time.

      “You have been notably quiet, Gregory. Should I be worried?”

      “What?  No!  Just thinking, that’s all.  It’s a lot to take in, you know.  I have no idea what all of these rooms are for, even though you’ve told me their names and they’re all so grand and lovely… it’s a lot to think about.”

      “Ah, yes.  I believe I understand.  I forget that this is rather a familiar thing for me, but to others, it would be a great amount to absorb in one viewing.  Have you any thoughts, in general, to share?”

      “It’s beautiful, that much is certain.  And I very much like that the rooms are big and have lots of windows.  Lovely garden, too.”

      “It is worth your consideration?”

      “Sure, but I’m not going to make any decisions until we see the other one.”

      “Naturally.  I am… I am simply relieved that you are not displeased with what you see.”

Lestrade distracted Sherlock with an off-hand comment about the possibility of secret passages and, once the boy was thoroughly engaged with searching inch of the walls for an opening, pulled his lover aside.

      “Mycroft, are you worried that I’m not going to like your houses?”

The vampire heaved a sigh and shook his head, happy, though, that Lestrade took his hand and held it tightly.

      “No, it is not that.  It is more… you are a sensible, vital man, Gregory and I may harbor some uncertainty that the life I offer you shall not be to your taste.  That you shall find it pompous, frivolous or dull.  So much that I do is not… visible… in its importance.  There is no tangible thing to point to, many times, to verify that what I work for has meaning beyond that of acquiring wealth.  I worry that you see all of this and find it silly, vain or arrogant…”

      “And then you worry that’s how I’ll see you.  You daft bastard, that’s not something that can ever happen.  Never in my lifetime.  I admit I’m a little overwhelmed right now, but that’s ok.  I’ve lived with nothing for a long time and all of this is… unbelievable!  But, that’s not a bad thing.  And I know you do important things with your dad, Mycroft.  You told me about what you were trying to do about those bandits, remember?  You don’ t need to have a filled hay cart to point to for me to know you’re doing productive and valuable work, so don’t ever think you have to be anyone other than who you are for me to be proud of you and love you with everything in me.  Come on, now, let’s go and see that other house.  Of course, now I feel bad that the people who work here had to light all of these candles for us, just so we could be here a couple of hours.”

Mycroft leaned Lestrade back against the wall and took him in a kiss that made Sherlock shriek when he turned and caught a full vision of it with his tender and impressionable eyes.

      “You are an incomparable man, my dear, and I find my passions, my heart, my mind and my soul aroused to their fullest when you are with me.  And worry not for the house staff.  I believe the diversion was actually a refreshing change of pace for them.  Shall we move on?”

      “Which one of us is going to pick Sherlock up off of the floor?”

      “I believe I can find some rope to affix to his legs.  He cuts quite a slim figure, so dragging him behind us should not be overtaxing.”

      “I am not amused!”

Sherlock leapt up from his latest bout with death and scowled vigorously at the older pair.

      “Then Gregory and I shall be amused on your behalf.  Come along, Sherlock.  We are off to the next house and it is a bit of a ride, I’m afraid, so you might take with you a cushion for your sensitive bottom.”

      “My bottom is firm and highly elastic!  It suffers nothing from a minor outing with a horse.”

      “Very well.  I do hope you are correct.”

__________

Neither Lestrade nor Mycroft commented on Sherlock’s occasional whimper as they finally dismounted, nor his slightly hesitant first few steps.  It had been a long ride, but, as Lestrade noticed, put them about as far from Mycroft’s house as they were for the first property they’d visited, just in another direction.

But this one was entirely different.  Just as large and imposing as the last one, but there was something _different_ about it and, the second Lestrade took a step inside, he felt worlds better.

      “You are smiling, Gregory.  Do I take it you find this more to your liking?”

Marble.  There was marble _everywhere_!  Different sorts, different colors...  A house filled with stone was like a dream come true… didn’t rot, didn’t break, didn’t… burn.  This was heavenly…

      “It’s… amazing!”

      “One _could_ say it was more elaborately appointed than the last one, my dear.”

      “Maybe, but… it’s different.  It makes more sense, somehow.  Look at that ceiling!  Every bit of that beauty is completely natural and it’s… well, it’s gorgeous isn’t it?  And the floor and the walls the staircase… everything is solid and… somehow it’s rather masculine, even though it’s most elegant sight I’ve ever seen.”

Mycroft stepped behind his mesmerized lover and wrapped his arms gently around his waist, smiling widely at the excitedly-quivering form resting against his chest.

      “Have we found our new home?”

      “I… maybe.  Have to see the rest of it, don’t I?  Can’t make an instant decision; that would be irresponsible.”

But Mycroft knew just how much of a lie that was and had not a bit of trouble with it.  In truth, this was his favorite of the two, also, but he’d never thought his fiancé would have such a powerful reaction to the structure.  Sometimes, though, one’s heart made a choice and that was simply the end of the matter, as he had recently come to realize.

      “Then, by all means, let us explore.  I am certain we shall find many agreeable features with which to tempt you.”

      “Well, I’m definitely ready to find out.  And we can… hold on, where’s Sherlock?”

Mycroft looked around and saw neither hide nor hair of his brother.

      “I am not…”

Sherlock’s loud whoop preceded him appearing at full run at the end of the entranceway, to slide across the floor in his stocking feet until he pinwheeled wildly and missed a pillar by the width of a hair, landing on his already-compromised bottom as he crashed.

      “I believe Sherlock has given his approval, my dear.”

      “You do know I’m going to try that before we leave, don’t you?”

      “I have no doubt.  Just as I have no doubt I shall slide further than you.”

      “Oh really?”

      “Undoubtedly.”

      “What do I get if I win?”

      “A second attempt for me to control my, as you termed it, little dental problem.”

      “You’re on.”

      “I am mortally injured!”

Mycroft and Lestrade laughed at Sherlock’s raised and flailing limbs, then walked over to help up the poor, abused child.

      “Like the place, Sherlock?”

      “It is not entirely without merit, though it is wildly beyond what a vagabond such as yourself should be allowed to set foot into.”

      “Yes, the evil thing definitely approves.  Come on, Sherlock, we have to give the house a proper going over to make sure it’s this good everywhere.”

      “And, if I may offer this at the onset, brother dear… this particular property has a very extensive cellar system.”

      “My laboratory!  I claim the entirety of the substructure as my domain!”

      “We shall see.  I suspect the claiming of any portion of our home shall depend on the courtesy you demonstrate to Gregory and me during this introductory, and probationary, period.”

      “What!  That is extortion!”

      “No, not in the strictest sense because you have no prior claim to our property and, therefore, are not being denied a right, possession or state of well-being to coerce your actions.”

      “Your quagmire of wasted words will not ensnare me!”

      “Of course not.  Come, my beloved.  Do make note of any particular attributes that fail to meet your standard so that I may pass the information along to the workmen who shall, if this is our chosen home, restore it fully to its appropriate condition.”

      “My list you shall also have and follow to the letter!”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  Your devotion to our comfort is most gladdening…”

__________

This was the most astounding house in the world and Lestrade was still slightly shaky that this could be his future home.  Oh, why lie to himself… this _would_ be his future home.  It was magnificent!  And not in a fussy and frilly sort of way.  Every room was just breathtaking and there were scads of them!  Mycroft and he’d sort of talked about where they might do what, Mycroft and his business and him and his… whatever.  His vampire had been adamant about that, too.  He’d have his own space if he wanted it and for whatever reason he’d choose to see it used.  And there was so much more!  Large and plentiful windows, massive fireplaces, big pieces of solid furniture from what he could tell from peeking beneath the cloths that draped over everything and the grounds…the grounds were unbelievable!  Even by moonlight, he could tell they were spectacular, but, also, in need of a little care and that was something he found himself liking very much.  That was where he could really take the initiative and see them tended to properly.  Maybe do it himself, actually.  Get his fingers in the soil and bring those gardens back to their former state of perfection.

Yeah, no lying to himself, this was the place.  Filled with marble as cool as his Mycroft’s skin and lovely plants that needed him.  He could already picture himself sitting in the library with a warm fire and a good book, relaxing after a hard day doing… something.  And, though they’d never actually said anything, he and Mycroft had already picked their bedroom.  They both knew it the second they stepped into the large room that sported this incredible gold and red marble and overlooked the gardens he had fallen in love with.  It was _their_ room, there was no question about it and he was already having fantasies about their first night… day… combination or whatever… in that bed surrounded by colors that came alive in the firelight.  With his Mycroft sniffing at his neck like he was right now…

      “Do I smell nice?”

      “Hmmm… I cannot begin to describe my delight taking in your scent, my dear.  I can experience, if only by proxy, the true heart of your emotions and it is a glorious thing.”

      “And what am I feeling now?”

      “Elation.  Confidence.  A luscious tinge of arousal that is threading through it all and growing quite quickly and agreeably…”

      “You’re licking my neck!  Of course I’m getting aroused.”

      “And your lust is an aroma by which I am positively enraptured.”

Lestrade stilled himself a moment and let the sensation of his vampire’s tongue on his neck translate to the remembered sensation of his vampire’s tongue on something else and smiled smugly when Mycroft’s little moan of pleasure hit his ears.  Apparently, the man he loved was experiencing his own tinge of arousal and from nothing more than the smell of his skin…

      “How wickedly you seduce me, my dear.”

      “Good to know I’ve got another weapon in my arsenal when I’m wanting a little attention.”

Using his formidable talents in whatever manner necessary to secure his satisfaction… Mycroft could not be more proud of his fiancé if he tried.

      “And a powerful weapon it is.  I am entirely under your spell and cannot find a single fault with that.”

      “Neither can I.  And you might as well go ahead.  I don’t mind at all.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Your tongue’s not forked with sharp pointed ends, you lustful thing, so that’s not what’s running up my neck.  Go ahead and have a taste.  First little nibble in our new home.”

It was Lestrade’s turn to make soft, contentedly-aroused sounds as Mycroft quickly accepted the invitation and sank his fangs into the neck he had been worshipping, while his arms held his lover tenderly and close to his body.  Their new home… his husband and himself in the home they would share as a married couple.  The home where his Gregory in his arms would grace each and every of his days…

      “The stench of your debauchery is curdling my brain tissue!”

Mycroft’s angry warning growl at the newly-arrived boy startled both Lestrade and Sherlock, but Sherlock had the added fright of his brother’s enraged eyes fixing on him and quickly made a now-familiar window exit, feeling very fortunate that he had time to open said window and that it was on the ground floor.

      “Feeling a little possessive, love?”

A tightening of the arms around his waist gave Lestrade his answer.  And a soft swirling of tongue across his marks signaled the end of their impromptu interlude.

      “Apparently, though I shall term it ‘protective’ instead.  And I shall not apologize for it.  My fiancé in my arms, in our home… it is right and proper to feel an urge to protect and hold fast.”

      “I don’t think Sherlock is much of a threat, Mycroft.”

      “Perhaps not, but the principle is sound.”

      “Of course, if an intruder really did make an appearance, I would love to see you teach them a lesson they’d never forget.  I suspect you are an amazing fighter when you want to be.”

For someone who had always valued his mind first and his physical nature second, Mycroft was finding praise of his physical abilities extremely satisfying…

      “I admit that I have not neglected the less intellectual components of my training.  Father has strongly impressed on me the value of the sword and the hand that wields it, as well as the mind that directs their action.”

      “That’s a very sexy image, just so you know.  You with a sword, showing some poor bastard how stupid he was for taking you on.”

If Sherlock was not very likely to sneak back to determine why he and Gregory had not appeared outside yet, Mycroft would have had his lover unclothed on the first horizontal surface he could find, coaxing from him a veritable symphony of the most delicious noises…

      “You flatter me, Gregory, but I shall not refuse your kind gift of words.  Now, I suspect we had best find Sherlock before he decides to return and find us.  I am of a mind he would not make the experience a pleasant one.”

      “I think you’re right.  Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to talk about how sexy you are later.  While we’re naked under those thick, warm blankets of yours.”

An image that would now be in Mycroft’s mind until the suggestion and been well and fully consummated.

      “I am ever in awe of your manner of thinking, my love.”

      “It’s a gift.”

One Mycroft felt extremely blessed to have received…

__________

      “There you are!  We were wondering if you had gotten… distracted… during your journey.”

If it was possible, Mycroft would set a visiting schedule for his mother once he and his husband were ensconced in their new home and that schedule would be a very miserly one.  And censored for certain conversation topics.

      “Thank you, Mummy, but no.  As you can imagine, the choosing of one’s home is not a task to be taken lightly.”

      Oh… and is there good news to share?  Gregory… did something please you.  Besides, Mycroft, that is?”

It was very easy to understand why Mycroft said his mother and Mrs. Hudson were good friends…

      “Yes, ma’am.  The house that’s west of here, the one with all the marble… that one felt right.  Felt special, actually.  I think Mycroft and I would be very happy there.”

      “That was Mycroft’s grandfather’s first house, do you know?  He lived there for quite some time before he had this one built in honor of his own engagement.  Before they married, he had this one constructed, as his future bride thought the current option was rather cold and uninviting.  I must admit I never understood her opinion since I find it positively marvelous, but everyone is different.  And several cousins have used it in the intervening years and found it a most delightful home.  I’m so happy for you!  It’s a lovely house and close enough for me to visit often.”

Mycroft groaned inwardly and gave Lestrade a soothing rub of his back.  Sherlock and Mummy as ever-present guests… he and his fiancé should simply build another wing onto _this_ house and remain here for all eternity…

      “Well, that’s another point in its favor, then.  I like the idea of a house with history, especially history that has personal meaning.  I think it will really be a good choice for Mycroft and me.  The gardens need some work, but I’m actually looking forward to that.  It’ll be something for me to work on when Mycroft’s busy with other things.”

Mycroft released another groan, this one decidedly audible as his mother gasped excitedly and clapped her hands together like a giddy schoolgirl.

      “You enjoy gardens as well!  Oh this is very fortuitous.  Come, let me show you ours and we can talk about some little changes I was contemplating.  Mycroft’s great-grandfather enjoyed working in his own gardens and it is his ring that you now wear.  I do believe there is significance in that, I truly do.  Come along, dear… Mycroft we shall find you later.”

Mycroft watched as his fiancé was taken captive and marched away for a fate too terrible to contemplate, an opinion his mate shared if his wide and pleading-for-help eyes were to be believed, then turned towards his rooms, only to find his father coming into view from around the doorway behind which he’d been hiding.

      “Is she gone?”

      “Really, Father.  Cowering like a frightened infant.”

      “You heard your mother.  She’s got her flowers on her mind and if she can trap a victim who is not me, I shall not leap into her web to save him.”

      “Gregory will be hours discussing pestiferous insects and… bulbs!”

      “Better him than me.  Anyway, it is high time he begins to learn the full meaning of becoming a Holmes.  Or will it be Holmes?  Have you discussed that yet?”

      “No.  We are only newly engaged, Father.  There has been little time to discuss anything beyond the most significant of the issues we face.”

      “Of course, of course.  However, if he is amenable to becoming your mother’s gardening partner, I’ll be happy to change the family name to anything he likes.  It would be worth it not to have to spend the evening digging dirt from under my fingernails and wiping away the memory of worms wriggling a very unappealing greeting at me.”

Father had a highly appropriate view of dirt and its inhabitants, in Mycroft’s opinion, and if Gregory _was_ content to spend time with the shrubs, grubs and weeds, then who was he to deny his betrothed the chance to enjoy himself.

      “That does bear consideration.  Now, if you will excuse me…”

      “Oh no, while they are occupied, we can tend to some matters of our own, such as planning the renovations of your chosen home and the income you will need to maintain it.”

Now, that sent a slightly frigid breeze through Mycroft’s veins.

      “I… I… am I not… do I not have…”

      “Calm yourself, son.  You are by no means destitute, however, we have not reviewed your investments in some time and it is prudent to do so periodically, even if one is not anticipating starting life in a new home with a new spouse.  This is a good opportunity to see if we can enhance your coffers through a bit of restructuring.  Income is a welcome thing, Mycroft, but one must always work for it, no matter form that work takes.”

      “Ah, yes.  I understand your meaning.  And I do want to provide Gregory with the most comfortable life that I can.  He has struggled for so long and worked so hard simply to survive… he deserves all that I can give him.”

      “Then let us ensure that you are well-positioned to do so.  Although…”

      “What?”

      “I do not perceive your Gregory as someone who would take well to living life as a kept man.”

      “No, he would not.”

      “Another discussion for your future?”

      “It has already been broached and we shall continue our conversations on the topic until we find a solution that Gregory finds suitable for his needs and desires.”

      “Excellent.  I am very happy to know you are thinking ahead and mindful of your fiancé’s quality of life in all its aspects.”

      “Hence the extensive gardens you had designed for this house so Mummy could continue with her work with plant breeding and hybridization.”

      “Precisely.  And, of course, your mother’s mind and zest for research are by no means her least seductive features.”

      “Our conversation is now at an end.”

      “You are a man, now, Mycroft.  You can’t be prudish about such things.”

      “I shall remain prudish about such things until such time as my mind has dissolved into an insentient mass of goo.”

      “Which your brother will demand to analyze.  Speaking of Sherlock, did you fling him into the lake or did he make it home with you intact?”

      “He is in his laboratory deciding what he wants to relocate to Gregory and my cellars when he assumes the throne of king of our netherworld.”

      “It’s good to see him happy with your upcoming wedding and planning to keep an eye on you.”

      “You intend to use him as a spy.  How distasteful.”

      “Only for the first twenty or thirty years of your marriage.  I need to be prepared in case I am required to step in and offer fatherly advice, since you shall most certainly hesitate to ask for it.”

      “I am perfectly capable of managing my marriage to Gregory!”

      “Something I believed as well, until I told your mother that yellow diamonds did not flatter her complexion.”

      “I do not see the problem.  If they were not a flattering color, she should be happy you informed her of the fact.”

      “Twenty of thirty years son… they will positively fly by, so do not worry about a thing…

__________

      “My, my, my Gregory… you are simply a marvel in the garden.  Your assessment of my herbs’ plight was most astute.”

Well, that was good to know.  Trying to see what was going on with an herb patch when all you’ve got is a candle to see by wasn’t exactly easy.

      “Thank you, ma’am.  I’ve seen this sort of thing before, though… it’s been a long time.”

      “A deft hand with flora and a keen memory… such a talented young man.  Mycroft has truly outdone himself in his choice of husband.”

      “He said you were worried about that.  Choosing someone that was right for him, I mean.”

      “Did he now?  Well, I cannot deny the truth of it.  Mycroft is an exceptional boy, truly exceptional; however, he pays little attention to social interaction beyond what is necessary for his business interests and his father and I _did_ despair that he would have few chances to find the other half of his heart, resigning himself to a marriage that offered him little and was mostly for appearance sake.  We could not be happier with the situation as it has unfolded.  You complement him, Gregory, and draw more from my son that he would ever have been able to accomplish alone.  He loves you deeply and will work tirelessly to make you happy, so do not hesitate to remark if you need anything from him.  He will suffer, actually, if he learns you had a want that went unfilled.  I suspect that shall not be the easiest thing for you to do, however.”

      “I… I’d like to think that’s not true, but… I admit that I’m not used to asking for things.  I work for what I have and that means something to me.”

      “I quite agree.  There is a sense of self-pride that cannot come from any other source but knowing one’s efforts have contributed to the life one leads.  Of course, those efforts come in very diverse forms.  I have my own pursuits and they have their own value, though, it is not primarily a financial one.  But, I provide for my husband the support he needs to carry on with _his_ work at the level of efficiency and effectiveness that brings him the success he achieves, while enabling him to also find time to relax and maintain his enjoyment of the life we share.”

      “I suppose you’re right… one more thing I’m going to have to think about.  So tell me, is Mycroft’s dad having a similar talk with him, too?”

Even in the darkness, Lestrade could tell he was being given a smile and he allowed himself a mental pat on the back for assuming Mycroft’s parents were no different than their human counterparts.

      “Outstanding, Gregory, simply outstanding.  You have a remarkably clever mind.  And yes, he is having a version of this discussion; rest assured it is only the first of many.  For both of you.”

Lestrade’s smile wavered slightly and was very happy his future mother-in-law turned her attention back to her plants.  He was part of a family again and only now beginning to remember what that meant.  Maybe it came with a lot of things that were annoying or frustrating or embarrassing, but… he was part of a _family_ again, and, all in all, that one word made everything else a lot easier to take…

__________

Mycroft smiled at his fiancé across the table and completely ignored Sherlock’s screeching that his piece of cake was the smallest at the table and that this was proof of a widening conspiracy to reduce his vitality through means of attrition.  Despite his fears, once the interminable parental conversations had ended, they had reconvened in dining room and enjoyed a leisurely, non-prying, non-embarrassing dinner and if this was a glimpse into what the future held, the picture it painted was an idyllic one.  If his parents could keep their meddling in check, it might be possible to enjoy regular dinners as a family, something he could easily discern was precious to his future spouse.  His Gregory was positively glowing with happiness…

      “Yes, sir, I think the furniture that’s in there now is going to be brilliant.  Sturdy stuff from the look of it and nothing with too much… frills.  Looked comfortable, too, so I think we’ll keep it.  If that’s ok with you, Mycroft.”

      “I am entirely amenable to that suggestion.  I believe that the current suite of furnishings will be very appropriate for our lifestyle and respective tastes.”

      “Good, because if we had to replace everything, it would have taken quite a long time and I know you two want to be fully settled as soon as possible.  And I’m not certain I could stand the eternity of dodging furniture makers while you two decided upon the details of your new chairs or cabinetry and had them built.  Your mother would certainly take advantage of the situation, much to my agony.”

      ”Well, we _do_ need a new formal dining table and most of the chairs _could_ stand to be replaced.  Your business associates are not always as kind to fine furnishings as are you, my darling husband.  Anyway, there is still the matter of family and formal place settings and I am certain the window treatments need to be changed as they have to be clogged with dust by now.  Oh, and the boys require new clothes, extra staff needs to be added to the household, Mycroft’s own donors hired, the library will need a refreshing with new material… how are the rugs?  Did you boys notice the rugs?”

There was no torture in the world more insidious than this!  Perhaps he and his Gregory should simply agree to live in the cottage until his mother’s enthusiasm ebbed a bit…

      “Mummy… the rugs are fine.”

      “And if a wealth of spider eggs, currently hiding in the dust and neglected pile, hatch and convene an adventure that leads into your body orifices while you sleep, kindly do not share your news with me.”

Sherlock’s derisive laughter won him the loss of a large forkful of his cake to his older brother and Lestrade had to admit he hoped very much that Sherlock would visit them often.  As good as it would be for the boy, it would be _as_ good for his fiancé.  And Sherlock would be a boy for so very, very long…

      “If you’d like, ma’am, we’ll take a look at the rugs and drapery next time we stop in to check things over.”

      “Thank you, Gregory.  It is good to know that someone at this table appreciates that a successful domestic existence hinges on attention to detail.”

Lestrade smiled proudly at his lover, who vowed that his Gregory would have all the opportunities he liked to keep the family matriarch happy and distracted from his own affairs.  And he certainly hoped his fiancé enjoyed the exhausting process of securing all of those little details that Mummy believed made a house a home.  He would be mired in them until the end of time…

      “Also, you must give to me a list of who you would like to invite to the wedding.  We have already drawn up Mycroft’s list…”

What?

      “And why was I, the Mycroft in question, not made a participant to the act?”

      “Because you have no friends and those you believe _are_ friends are simply leeches on the blood of your bullion so the number of poor, damned souls you would invite to your execution celebration totals, blessedly, zero.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock, you are succinct and verbally-flamboyant as always.”

      “Your peers, son, are, without exception, offspring of individuals your mother and I have already planned to invite, so we spared ourselves your repetition and took the initiative to begin preparing invitations in expectation of the much-anticipated announcement of your wedding day.”

Both Mycroft and Lestrade grew more and more uncomfortable as the older couple stared at them as if trying to turn their flesh into stone.

      “Well?”

      “Yes, Father?”

      “We’re waiting.”

      “Is it enjoyable?”

      “We aren’t going to wait for long.”

      “I suppose it isn’t, then.”

      “When are you getting married?”

      “In the near future.”

      “Specifics, Mycroft.  I did teach you the vital importance of them, so kindly repay me by using them in conversation.”

      “We have been engaged but a heartbeat of time!”

      “More than enough to attend to the important matters.  So… announce.”

Mycroft looked over at Lestrade, who was actually having a hard time holding back a laugh.  His dear vampire could handle this.  Teach him a thing or two about giving a smug eye about rugs.

      “How can I possibly do that?  I must study my upcoming calendar, conference with Gregory about  when he might find a free day in his own schedule…”

      “Your calendar is at my discretion and, since Gregory is taking an entire day free tomorrow, I deduce that he can do so at will.  So, please stop waffling and set a date.”

Mycroft looked to his fiancé for support, but found no aid coming from that particular source, leaving him floating alone on a small raft in an ocean of parental judgment.  How dare his beloved find a second piece of cake more imperative that this!

      “Shouldn’t… isn’t there some charting of stars or reading of portents that should occur before a decision is made?”

      “Have you been drinking?”

No, Father, but that _would_ begin shortly.

      “Very well… my dear, would you like to contribute to this discussion?”

      “Mnot brealy.”

      “Swallow, please, Gregory.”

      “Not really.”

      “How joyful.  I am an abandoned man before I even take my vows.”

      “Are you going to help me with the rugs?”

Fiend.

      “That is irrelevant.  And dastardly.”

      “Just give your Dad an answer!  It really doesn’t matter, so just tell him something.  Then, we can finish our dinner and find ourselves a nice warm fire to enjoy to its fullest.”

Incredibly dastardly.  Especially with that tiny slide of the tip of his tongue across the most desirable lips ever graced to a man.

      “I acquiesce.  Let us say two weeks.”

      “Now I know you’ve been drinking.  Your mother and I cannot plan and implement a wedding in two weeks!”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

      “Then tell me what you would prefer.  If my fiancé is as open to any option as he appears, then state the time you require and we shall use that as a template.”

Mycroft had always wondered how his parents could have an entire conversation consisting of nothing but raised eyebrows and small twitches of their lips, but after finding his Gregory he was beginning to understand just how simple a thing it could be.

      “Four.  Four weeks. That should allow sufficient time to make all of the arrangements and allow leisurely travel for our most distant guests.”

The engaged couple looked at each other and had their own non-verbal conversation, consisting mostly of Lestrade saying that was fine with him and Mycroft dithering because he suddenly wasn’t certain that was enough time to provide his fiancé with a wedding worthy of his majesty.  Luckily, Lestrade wasn’t afraid to be the practical one of the pair.

      “That sounds fine, sir.  The only people I might invite are in the village, anyway, and I’m sure planning a big, amazing party is something you’re used to doing, so I know it’s going to be a brilliant day for Mycroft and me.”

It was entirely inappropriate to become aroused at a family dinner, but Mycroft was finding he had a small kink for watching his lover affect his bits of deviousness.  Gregory could manipulate his parents _masterfully_ …

      “We _are_ rather renowned for our social gatherings and invitations to our parties are highly sought after amongst out social circle.  Rest assured that we shall do our very best for you, Gregory.  If we didn’t, Mycroft would have our heads on spikes.”

And, from his irritated glare, Lestrade had a suspicion his fiancé didn’t consider his father’s joke entirely off the mark.

      “I know you will, sir.  Got to do right by Mycroft, because he deserves the very best.  And, of course, you have to send your son out of the nest in grand style, right?”

      “Precisely!  Celebrate getting one of our progeny sorted and settled, so we only have Sherlock haunting our halls.”

      “I am not a specter!  And it is well known by everyone in attendance that I do my utmost to avoid all of you as much as is possible!”

      “Something which breaks your dear mother’s heart on a daily basis.”

      “That is a lie!  Mummy banishes me from her sight with such frequency that I am not entirely certain I have legal right to remain on these overgrown and plant besieged grounds.  Fortunately, my second residence will be prepared soon and I intend on placing my stamp of authority on the staff as soon as I take possession of my lair.”

The others sitting around the table forestalled laughing at the serious-faced child and decided, instead, to bring the dinner to its conclusion, with the older pair moving off to tend to their own affairs, leaving the younger pair to manage the monarch of the underground kingdom.

      “Now, I do believe it is time for Gregory and I to enjoy a moment of relaxation in my rooms.  If you require anything, Sherlock, do not hesitate to ask a member of the staff.”

      “How easily you fail to amuse me.  Left to you for entertainment, the hay harvester would die of boredom before you even had the opportunity to exercise upon him your vile and perverted proclivities.”

This silent conversation assured both members of the engaged couple that the other was highly aware of Sherlock feeling a bit like the fifth wheel and that each was amenable to postponing their vile and perverted proclivities for awhile and finding some activity that included the pouting, plate-stabbing child.

      “Set down your fork, Sherlock, and leave Mummy’s dishes unmolested.  If you wish, you may join us for a bit of reading and conversation.  Perhaps one of games father obtained during his last trip to the shore.  I am certain Gregory would find them quite stimulating.”

Sherlock scrutinized the older boys for signs of deceit or mockery, but found none and relinquished his fork in a signal of acceptance of their offer.

      “Very well.  My dear, may I escort you to our suite?”

      “I’d like that very much.”

Abandoning the table, the engaged couple linked arms and walked towards their first night together under this roof.  After they satisfied Sherlock’s insecurities and sent him off to wreak his chaos on other unsuspecting victims, of course.


	12. Chapter 12

This was… amazing.  This bed was softer than anything he could have imagined and his Mycroft sharing it with him felt like the best dream in the world come true.  Once they’d soothed Sherlock’s feelings, the imp had been happy to go off and take up where he’d left off with an enlargement spell and leave them alone.  And that alone time had not gone to waste.  Another hour of reading in front of the fire and then… oh, and then.  Mycroft’s little dental problem was still making an appearance, but the other talents his fiancé possessed more than made up for it.  They’d made love for _hours_ …

And as soon as the sun came up, he could see the change in Mycroft.  Exhausted already from those lovely hours of passion, his vampire became adorably drowsy and now… not that he’d admit to Mycroft that he’d experimented with how much poking it took to get a response from the sleeping vampire, but it was a LOT.  And that only bought an annoyed wriggle, though it was the cutest wriggle he had ever seen.  

Now, if _he_ could only fall asleep, this would be perfect.  It felt _enormously_ strange to be lying in bed with the sun high in the sky.  Get up early and start working… that was what he knew.  And he liked it.  Good day’s work that ended with something you could show for it.  He’d have to find some way to keep that in his life; end each day or night with something he could point to and say ‘I did that.’  And Mycroft understood that need, which was a relief.  They were going to be good for each other.  Be a strong, solid couple and have a life that was happy and fulfilling.  If only he could learn to sleep during the daytime…

__________

      “Ah, Gregory…. _oh, Gregory_.  Did you find any rest today at all?”

Mycroft wavered between extreme guilt and extreme delight at his fiancé’s appearance, which was heavy-eyed, tousled and positively breathtaking.  His poor lover had obviously seen very little sleep…

      “A bit, here and there.  Something I’m going to have to get used to, I suppose.”

      “We shall find a schedule that benefits us both, my love, and have an abundance of time to become accustomed to the demands of both our lives.  I will insist, however, on an early return to the cottage so that you may find sufficient sleep for your work day tomorrow.”

      “And I won’t argue with you.  Not that my bed at the cottage is anything like this one and you’re not there to share it with me anyway, but it’s going to be good to get a full night’s sleep in me before I’m back to work.  Not that I regret today one little bit.  Last night and today were wonderful and I can’t believe it’s only a month until we’ll be able to do this every day.”

      “I, too, am anxious for this to become our norm, but in our own home and our own bed.”

      “That red and gold bedroom, right?”

      “Ah, yes.  I thought I noticed your interest peak when we examined that particular space.”

      “You loved it, too.  Don’t try and pretend you didn’t.”

      “I am found out!  Yes, that was by far my favorite.  Such an opulent, yet inviting, space… it called to me the moment we crossed the threshold.”

      “Then that’s one decision made.  What say we let your mum make the rest so we don’t have to worry about rugs and plates?”

      “Ooohhh… that does sound appealing.  However, you have already agreed to be her assistant and I am certain she is greatly looking forward to the time you shall spend together.  Sherlock is very much in his own world and my time is dedicated to matters of Father’s business interests… there has been no one to share _her_ interests and I believe she is looking forward to seeing that changed.”

      “That makes sense.  And it’s not as if the things she’s interested it don’t match up in some ways with mine, so I’m not going to be a bastard and deny her a little company out in the garden.  And, I guess, it won’t kill me to sit through choosing curtains.”

      “Your sacrifice is most appreciated, my love.  I would truly require confinement for mental instability were I to suffer her campaign to refurbish our home.”

      “I am going to expect some payment for this, you know.”

Mycroft smiled widely and let his fangs drop, loving how his Gregory’s pupils grew ever so slightly at the sight.

      “Shall I make an advanced payment on my bill?”

      “I think that’s a fantastic idea.  We’ve got some time until breakfast, right?”

      “For this?  We have all the time in the world…”

Mycroft spooned his lover and held him close as he sank his teeth into the skin that was already perfuming the room with clear signals of lust and need.  Something that Mycroft was eager to satisfy.  And with his own need sliding between his Gregory’s thighs, as well as his hand properly tending to the man he loved, it wasn’t very long before that satisfaction arrived in a very vocal and messy fashion.

      “You are positively magical, Mycroft.  That is the best possible way to start the day.  Or night.  I’ll get that sorted in my head at some point.”

Mycroft continued to kiss Lestrade’s neck and hummed his agreement softly against the skin that bore the heavy scent of their lovemaking.

      “It shall come in time.  Now, may I offer you a hot bath?  I admit to enjoying one, at times, to start my night and I have not been blessed to start my nights in quite such a decadent manner in my lifetime.”

      “Hot bath?  _Hot_ bath?  I haven’t had one of those in years!”

Mycroft silently promised his lover that the years of deprivation he suffered would quickly become a barely-noticed memory pushed back into the deep recesses of his mind.

      “Then we shall definitely share one this evening.  And I believe it shall be a fixture of our nights that we start or end them with a relaxing bath as often as is possible.”

      “That sounds perfect.  Really, that sounds absolutely perfect.  And we get our first one tonight!”

Lestrade’s excited shimmy earned him a kiss on his broad shoulder and a pinch on his firm bottom.

      “Then let us make our way out of this bed and commemorate the creation of our first household ritual.  And, after a hearty breakfast, I shall see you home safely so that you may rest.  But… you did enjoy our time together did you not?”

Lestrade rolled over and kissed Mycroft softly, while gently running his fingers up and down his fiancé’s long, pale neck.

      “I enjoyed it more than I can even describe.  I admit I was a little worried that I’d feel out of place, but I didn’t.  It was wonderful and I can’t wait until I can do it again.”

      “I am ecstatic to hear it.  And we shall certainly repeat this experience again and again until we are wed.  And, also, in your own home.  There is a charm to the cottage that I shall not deny, likely because of its prominent role in our romantic history.”

      “I think I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for it, too.  And with all those visits, the month really isn’t going to be long at all, is it?”

      “Not nearly as long as I had feared.  And then…”

      “Yeah…”

      “The vision is a beautiful one.”

      “It really is.”

      “We are in grave danger of not leaving this bed, Gregory.”

      “I’m figuring that out.”

      “It would not be a hardship to postpone our bathing for a further few moments.”

      “Not really, no.  Got some ideas about how those moments might be spent?”

      “A few, I believe.”

      “Then I look forward to learning about them.”

      “It shall be a very vigorous lesson.”

      “I like vigorous.”

      “Then, let us begin…”

__________

      “I am not pleased that my breakfast was postponed because of your libidinous gropings.”

Gropings which, at least, had been washed clean in a long, hot bath that Lestrade felt was a nearly spiritual experience.

      “Poor little Sherlock, starving away to skin and bones because his breakfast was a few minutes late.”

      “It was at least fifteen minutes that I was forced to endure and that placed an undue strain upon my internal workings.”

      “Need a chamberpot?”

      “Your vulgarity, Lestrade, is decidedly off-putting.”

      “Then aren’t you happy I’m going home after we eat?”

      “ _Deliriously_ happy.  Euphoric, even.”

      “Glad I could be of help.  Mycroft, why don’t you have a seat and I’ll fix us a couple of plates.”

Mycroft took a seat across from his scowling brother and took a moment to relish the domesticity.  The smaller family dining was something his parents had considered very important to establish in this house and the same would be created in their own home, if his Gregory was willing.  A cozy space where he and his love could share their meals and some special, private time as a couple.  Surely the blacksmith could fashion a cage to place around his brother’s chair so that their special time with his brother in attendance was not accompanied by broken dishes and flung bread rolls.

__________

_Wedding Countdown - Week 1_

This was hellacious!  It had been three days since he had seen his Gregory and it was as if his heart was shriveling and slowly ceasing to beat.  They were hosting a very large and _very_ demanding group from the south, which was keeping the household on full alert and constantly busy, so much so that he had not been able to break away for even a brief visit with his fiancé.  It was only through a rather hefty bribe to Sherlock that he was able to send a message to his love to reassure him that he was ever being remembered and missed to the depths of this saddened vampire’s soul.  Not that the bribe should have been necessary, since his brother was apprehended preparing to leave for his Gregory’s cottage in any case, but shaming Sherlock for his unapproved departure did not generate in his brother any inclination to try and restore favor by performing the deed for free.  And, in truth, he did not have the heart to press, since Sherlock willingly seeking out another individual to help assuage his loneliness was an event worth celebrating.

Now, however, he had a small window of opportunity and flew at his top speed towards the cottage, hoping beyond hope that his lover would be at home.  Finally, seeing the smoke rising from the chimney, his worry began to ebb and, after landing and quickly transforming, it was only a moment before he was knocking on the cottage door.

      “Mycroft!  I am _so_ happy to see you!”

The vampire had no reply other than ‘urk’ since he was drawn inside and into a deep and passionate kiss.

      “Did you miss me, my dear?”

      “Miss you?  I was going out of my mind missing you.  Sherlock told me how busy you were, though, so I understand, so I hope you’re not trying to dodge your work for a bit of a cuddle, no matter how much you miss me.”

      “I solemnly promise that I am not neglecting my responsibilities, however, I shall take any opening made available to me to visit my fiancé and remind him how much I love him.”

Which Mycroft took pains to demonstrate with another kiss and few moments of wandering hands under his Gregory’s shirt.

      “Something I’m never going chide you for.  Can you stay awhile?”

      “A short while, but not as long as I would like.  I excused myself from breakfast, but I must return soon as our new round of talks will begin shortly afterwards.  I had to see you, though, Gregory.  This has been intolerable!”

      “You won’t get any argument from me.  I want nothing more that to wake up and see you, go to bed and you’re there with me, and it’s been hard not to have that, now that I’ve been given a taste of how sweet it is.”

      “Such is the root of my own suffering, but it shall not be long now before we suffer no more.”

      “No, no it won’t.  So, how shall we fill the little bit of time we have together tonight?”

      “Would you… I know it is not as… intimate… as, perhaps, we might desire, but would you enjoy a walk?  It is a spectacular night, warm and clear, and I would very much like to share it with you.”

      “I’d love it!  Summer doesn’t last so long that we should waste any beautiful nights that cross our path.  Come on, let’s go.”

Now, Mycroft was being escorted back outdoors where the moon was bright and the stars lit up the night sky like diamonds.  A pleasurable walk with the man he loved, holding hands and stealing kisses… already his soul was healing from their separation.  A little over three more weeks… there would still be enough warmth in the air for them to enjoy quite a few simple walks in the evening.  And, if his Gregory chose and was successful in forsaking his humanity, not even the bitterest of cold could stop them bathing in the moonlight whenever they desired…

_Wedding Countdown - Week 2_

      “Please, Gregory… harder.”

      “Hmmmmm… I think my Mycroft likes h… having me inside of him.”

      “ _Please_ …”

      “Don’t worry, love, I’ll… ohgodyoufeelsogood… I’ll give you everything you need.  I promise.”

      “T…then… my turn?”

      “On my hands and knees or on… fuckbutI’mgettingclose… on my back?”

      “I sh…shall decide after our rest.  Oooohhhh, just like that.  And _harder_ …”

      “Your wish is m… my command.”

_Wedding Countdown – Week 3_

      “Oh my, aren’t these lovely?”

Lestrade wasn’t certain they were actually any different from the last five he’d looked at since his eyes had crossed permanently an hour ago.

      “In all honesty, Mrs. Holmes, I can’t see any difference between these plates and the last ones you showed me.”

      “Pish tosh, Gregory.  And do call me Mummy.  Look closely… the gold band at the rim is half again as wide as the last pattern.  Doesn’t that make for a much bolder presentation?  Far more suitable for the masculine household you and Mycroft will establish.”

      “Oh… ok, now that you mention it, I can see the difference.  And I do like the gold ones better than the silver ones we looked at.”

      “I assumed you would.  You have such a warm coloring and emit a notable surplus of delightful body heat, much, I am certain, to Mycroft’s delight.  Naturally you would gravitate towards the more fiery colors and sultry tones.  Which leads us to our discussion concerning window coverings.  Have you given thought to the question of textured or patterned?”

      “Uh… no.”

      “That is quite alright, for I have and have little doubt that you will find that my argument for textures is a compelling one.”

      “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

_Wedding Countdown – Week 3.5_

      “A swine wearing an ermine stole is still a swine.”

      “Sherlock, you will _not_ refer to Gregory as a swine.”

      “Would you prefer sheep?  I am more than happy to accommodate your person preference.”

Mycroft glared at his brother and smiled reassuringly at Lestrade, who was clearly disturbed by Sherlock’s words.  The final tailoring of their wedding attire was having a noticeable impact on his fiancé’s disposition and Sherlock’s nattering was certainly not helping.

      “You wear your wedding garments splendidly, my dear.  And how well they are fitted to your strong and perfectly-formed body.  Truly, there shall be none who witness our wedding who shall believe anything other than I have found a god fallen to Earth.”

      “You have found a goose who was too stupid to remember to flap its wings and fell to the earth, you mean.”

      “Shut it, Sherlock.  You… are you sure I look alright, Mycroft?  I’ve never worn anything like this and…”

The older Holmes brother rose from his chair and took his worried partner in a soft, soothing kiss to chase away his fears.

      “You are breathtaking, Gregory.  Sherlock is simply jealous that his own garments for our nuptial ceremony are plain as a little brown hen compared to your resplendent garb.  He professes to have no care for fashion or appearance, but his insistence on a wardrobe of the finest clothing tells a very different tale.”

      “It is a proper mark of my status!  I care not for the swatches of silk and linen, per se, but with my standing in society, I must dress as befitting my station, so the rabble are properly able to recognize the quality of my breeding.”

      “Why not just stick gold coins to your skin, while you’re at it, you arrogant little thing?”

      “Buffoon!  The rabble would seize the opportunity to snatch what lucre they could from my person and I would have to suffer both their proximity and the wealth of diseases and halitosis they carry, as a consequence.  Why Mycroft finds you a suitable life partner continues to baffle me…”

      “Might it be because Gregory is a man of profoundly stellar character and intellect?  I consider him the grandest prize I might ever in this world have found, and count every day my blessings for our union.”

      “Ugh.  Your talents as a political and financial meddler are already sufficiently grotesque, kindly do not attempt to add that of a writer of romantic sonnets to your repertoire for you fail in that as spectacularly as you do for everything else.”

Mycroft felt little guilt bumping into his brother as he returned to the settee, sending the small vampire bumping onto the ground from the stool on which he had been perching.

      “Oh dear, how clumsy of me.  And I do believe Gregory and I are suddenly experiencing a change of plans for the remainder of the night and shall _not_ pay a visit to Mrs. Hudson as we had intended.  What say you, Gregory?  A relaxing evening of reading, where we never leave the comfort of my rooms and the lovely amenities they offer?”

Mycroft was not certain which was more adorable, Lestrade’s knowing smile or Sherlock’s volcanic apoplexy.

      “WHAT!  No!  You offered me your word that we would purchase my new crucible and replenish my supplies of juniper essence and beetle wing!”

      “But, I also stipulated that Gregory’s and my moods must be such that a trip off of the grounds was amenable to us.  My mood is _certainly_ an appreciable distance from amenable at the moment.”

      “Think not that your strangling strands of domination will wind around my throat, Mycroft.”

      “I would _never_ think that, brother dear.  However, completing our fitting in an agreeable fashion would go far towards you achieving your goal.”

      “The choking pressure of your superciliousness is restricting my air supply.”

      “Which will not impact your survival in any meaningful way for a laughingly long time.”

      “My eyes… they see naught but spots.”

Sherlock fell over and lay gasping on the rug, convulsing at intervals, as an additional symptom of his distress.

      “Your brother could really do well on the stage, love.  I’ve seen a few performances from the traveling shows and he’s easily as good as them, if not better.”

And, in the blink of an eye, the young vampire was on his feet, ready to defend his honor.

      “Intolerable!  As if any syphilis-ridden troupe of half-wits could approach my talents for dramatic presentation!”

      “Then you might occupy yourself coordinating a routine to showcase your abilities and leave Gregory and I to finish our task in peace.”

      “Your attempts at manipulation are pathetic, however, a better use of my time would be to take another inventory of my supplies to prepare a more thorough list for when we visit Mrs. Hudson tonight.  You will collect me in my laboratory when it is time to depart.”

The small vampire strode out of the room as imperiously as he could, and the older pair politely waited until he was out of earshot before laughing.

      “We have no chance of a quiet, uneventful night tonight, do we, Mycroft?”

      “Oh no, absolutely not.  However, we shall be able to complete this particular task with no further interruption and that, alone, is cause for celebration.”

      “Any other tasks on our agenda?”

      “Tonight?  No.  Once we have relieved our kindly tailor of his duties, we have no further wedding preparations until tomorrow.”

      “I have to work in the morning, so, maybe, you can leave me at the cottage when we’re finished with Mrs. Hudson?  On no… Please, Mycroft, don’t make your sad eyes at me.  I really do have to be awake early!”

      “Could you not… take a holiday from your duties until we are wed?”

      “Not if I want to keep eating, I can’t.”

      “We have here an abundance of food that you are welcome to sample at will.”

      “Mycroft…”

      “And a veritable surplus of firewood for warmth and very hot water, perfect for bathing…”

      “ _Mycroft_ …”

      “Oh… very well.”

Lestrade smiled and shook his head at his fiancé’s pout and had to admit that he shared Mycroft’s wish that they could both throw their responsibilities to the wind and concentrate on nothing but their upcoming wedding.  Finding time for the actual wedding work was already difficult, with Mycroft having so much to do for his dad and the fact that _he_ needed at least a few hours of sleep every night so he didn’t spend a useless day napping when he should be working.  However…

      “I did, if it matters, tell the people I work for that I wanted a few days off after the wedding and they all said yes, so… we’ll have that time to ourselves.  That is, if your dad can spare you for a little while.”

That did an more-than-acceptable job of brightening  Mycroft’s mood.  Their post-nuptial time would now be considered sacred, from his point of view, and woe be to any, including Father, who attempted to disrupt their connubial bliss.

      “I believe that can be arranged.  As always, your forward thinking is impressive to behold.”

      “I do have a good idea now and then.”

      “Is marrying me one of them?”

      “It’s the best of them all.”

_Wedding Countdown – Week 4_

      “Look at my boys… about to be husbands.  I hope you plan on combing your hair, Gregory Lestrade, before you take your vows.  You look like a ragamuffin.”

Lestrade threaded his fingers through his locks and smiled sheepishly at Mrs. Hudson.

      “And you, Mycroft Holmes.  Would it break your face to smile?  A real one, too, not that thing you do that makes it look like you’re struggling with a problem I have to give you a laxative to fix.”

      “When it is the appropriate time for a display of happiness, I assure you, Mrs. Hudson, that I will provide it.”

      “You’d better.  If I see you without a smile on your wedding day, I’ll _give_ you something not to smile about.  Now come here and tell me about the preparations.”

The couple skulked further into the shop and followed Mrs. Hudson into the back room, where biscuits waited and the kettle was singing merrily over the fire.

      “They are going well, in fact, there is little to do at this time besides count the hours.  What remains, Mummy and Father have well in hand.”

      “Good.  I’ve been talking to your mother and she is _very_ happy with the choices you two have made.”

      “You mean the choices of hers we agreed to in order to retain our sanity.”

      “Happy mothers mean happy sons and don’t either of you forget that.  Now, tell me about the house.  That was a good choice you made, in my opinion.  It’s always had a good feeling about it, nothing ugly hiding in the walls and rafters, if you know what I mean.  Sherlock’s found the basement system, I suppose.”

      “Little bugger already claimed it as his.  I’m waiting for him to demand we address him as King when we take a stroll down there to tell him to come up for dinner.”

      “You might as well have Mycroft’s father lend him his crown and find some throne you can drag down there so he can live out his little fantasy.  It’s good for a boy to playact now and then.  Has he found the tunnels, yet?”

Mycroft and Lestrade looked at each other with a growing sense of dread.

      “Tunnels?”

      “When that house was built, there was a fair amount of anti-vampire sentiment in the area and having a few escape routes was a very smart idea.  Some of them go quite a ways and let out in lots of places.  The doors aren’t easy to find, but for an eager boy like Sherlock…”

Mycroft groaned quietly and motioned for the witch to hand him his much-needed cup of tea.

      “Dear heavens… would it be too much to ask for a bit of assistance in making the entrances more difficult to find?  It is already a substantial drain of time and energy to keep Sherlock within monitoring distance and I shudder at the thought of him having even greater access to areas beyond our immediate reach.”

      “Hmmm… won’t be cheap.  He’ll probably look for whatever little surprises he can find and he’ll look _hard_.  A boy with a talent like his can do quite lot with a discovery spell when he puts his mind to it.”

      “Cost is of no consequence, Mrs. Hudson.  Please see it done as soon as possible, because Sherlock is already desperate to fully move into his new domain and it is only our holding firm that _we_ shall be the first to move into our new home that has held him at bay.  That, of course, and Father’s threat of withholding his allowance.”

      “I’ll see what I can do.  Greg, you want to show me around tomorrow?”

      “That shouldn’t be a problem.  I’ve got work in the morning, but I don’t have to be at the pub until fairly late in the afternoon, so that should leave us a good bit of time for you to take a look at things.  Mycroft, could you lend me a carriage or something, so we don’t have to walk?”

      “It shall be delivered this very night.”

      “You’re both such good boys, thinking about a frail old woman like that.  I’ll even give the house my own special inspection just to make sure nothing’s changed since I last had the chance to putter about inside.  Are you going to have an ice room, like your parents?”

      “Ah… something I had not considered.  My Gregory does enjoy his cold beverage after a night of working with Mummy in her gardens.  I am certain he would also want one after an evening in ours.  Yes, I believe that would be a very welcome addition to our home.  My dear, would you agree?”

Mycroft had thought his question to be a formality, but the flash of upset in his lover’s eyes made him rethink rather quickly.

      “That would… can we… can _you_ afford that?”

      “This one has plenty enough money to pay for that little luxury, don’t you worry about that.  But, I wouldn’t turn down regular maintenance on my shop as part of our deal.”

The slight uncertainty in Lestrade’s eyes vanished and was replaced by a sparkle of excitement that burned away the clouds of Mycroft’s own growing anxiety.

      “If that’s the case, then I’ll say yes, I’d like that.  I have to admit it’s been nice to have something cold to drink on these hot nights and I’ll be happy to keep an eye on the shop and take care of what it needs.  I’d do that anyway, actually, if you needed it, but free ice for my troubles is not something I’ll turn down.”

Mycroft smiled softly and marveled at how easily the witch could make his fiancé’s financial situation seem meaningless, since he had skills in his possession that had their own, substantial value.  Something _he_ had to remember to do on a regular basis.

      “Then we have a deal.  We can decide on the best room for that and I can make it Sherlock-proof while I’m at it.  Since it will need to be below ground, he’ll consider it his if precautions aren’t taken.”

      “A prudent decision, I have no doubt.  My dear, would you care for a biscuit?  Mrs. Hudson does make some of the finest I have ever tasted.”

The cost of Sherlock-proofing a room would have to be steep and any small bit of flattery Mycroft could offer would be given gladly if it helped to take a few coins off of his final bill.  Father had been absolutely correct… maintaining a home was a costly affair.  It was certainly time to start securing for himself a few additional avenues of income to make sure that home remained in one piece and habitable.  With Sherlock in frequent attendance, that was not going to be an easy thing…

__________

_Wedding Countdown – 1 Day to Go_

      “Mycroft… there are a _lot_ of people here…”

The young vampire wrapped his arms around his lover and kissed him lightly on his cheek.

      “Father and Mummy _were_ rather extravagant with the guest list, it seems.  However, a wedding is a grand occasion and one must be very careful to invite everyone of consequence or usefulness.  The slight of not being an invited guest could have substantial and financially-costly ramifications.”

      “Oh… yeah, I guess I can see that.  I just didn’t… ok, I suppose I was a little stupid to think it would just be your family and close friends, like it is for… typical weddings.”

This time, Mycroft’s arms tightened slightly and he pressed his body close to the man he loved, who was beginning to tremble, unfortunately, not in excitement.

      “Fear not, Gregory.  We shall not have much interaction with the guests beyond the passing of pleasantries at tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s post-ceremony entertainments.  And those pleasantries shall be perfunctory, at best.  Many in attendance are hoping to parlay their attendance into meetings concerning matters of business that shall keep Father occupied for quite some time and will have little concern about giving us little of their attention.  But, and I will point them out specifically, there _are_ guests in attendance who are here for the specific purpose of celebrating our union.  Friends and family who are happy for our love and anxious to see us set on the path of our lives.  More will be here tomorrow, also, so do not worry that our joyful time is simply a business affair.  And look, there is Mrs. Hudson… certainly an ally in our corner who cares nothing for Father’s dealings.”

Lestrade watched the witch, who was wearing a very fetching dress that he could in no way picture hiding in her room in the attic of the shop, stroll into the large room and quickly liberate a glass of wine from one of the servers.  He hadn’t realize she’d be here tonight, but he wasn’t going to think too hard about this bit of luck, since having an ally present was something he’d suddenly realized he needed.  His own few guests would at tomorrow’s ceremony and the following party, but not for this… gala.  He’d known better than that; they’d react exactly the way he was reacting and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone he actually liked.

      “That’s true.  And you’re certain all we have to do is smile and say hello?”

      “Truly, that is all that is required.  I am acquainted with most in attendance and I will ask the occasional question about family or other issue, but it is my intention to spread our presence thin through the crowd, so that we are not ensnared by any particular person or group for a more prolonged conversation.  In truth, that would be a painful thing in any case.  Many of whom we are hosting are positively ghastly.  There… talking to Father.  A particularly egregious example.”

Lestrade’s eyes followed Mycroft’s nod and felt his blood run cold.

      “I had hoped that Father would consider Magnussen’s rather oily presence too sacrilegious for such a blessed event, but… the man does have his uses.  Gregory?  _Gregory_?  What is the matter?”

Mycroft felt his fiancé’s body go rigid as a bar of iron and wondered if his father could smell the distress from across the crowded room as he and the newly-arrived guest had turned to stare at him and the man in his arms.

      “I… I don’t feel very well at the moment.  I’ve got to get some air.”

Lestrade jerked away from Mycroft, walking, then running, away from the room.  Before the vampire could shake off his shock and chase after him, a strong hand landed on his shoulder, holding him in place.

      “Father?  I’m sorry, but I must go.  Gregory…”

      “Let him leave, son.  He won’t get far, I’m sure, and we will apprehend him before the night is over.”

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to feel his muscles lock and a wash of iciness flow through his veins.

      “A…apprehend?  What do you mean?”

      “Gregory is not who you believe him to be, Mycroft.”

      “What?  No… No, Gregory is the man I love and he is the…”

      “The fire that killed his parents wasn’t an accident, son.  Gregory set the fire and then fled before he could be brought to trial.  He killed his family, Mycroft… but he will _not_ escape justice a second time.”


	13. Chapter 13

      “NO!  No, that is not true.  That is simply _not_ true.”

Mycroft tried to control the shaking that was beginning to wrack his body, though he had no idea if it was from distress at the news or anger that such an accusation was being made.  Frankly, he was leaning towards the latter and his father must have recognized that since he was quickly escorted towards his father’s study, both his arms held tightly as they walked, closely followed by Magnussen.

Once inside the study, Mycroft’s father closed the door, but felt no surprise that his son did not take the offered seat, choosing instead to pace and, seemingly, begin weighing the merits of various items as possible victims on which to vent his growing rage.

      “Calm down, son.  Just stay calm.”

      “Calm?  How dare you tell me to be calm in the face of these… lies!”

      “Unfortunately, lies are not what I have carried with me.  You might, instead, inspect this.”

Magnussen reached into his jacket and drew out a folded piece of parchment, which he handed to Mycroft to read.

      “It is Mr. Lestrade’s arrest order.  A bit faded, I’m afraid, but it has been sitting in wait for quite a long time.”

Mycroft read the order once and then a dozen times more and at no point did the words on the page change.  Or make any rational sense.

      “This… this is ludicrous!  Gregory would never hurt anyone, let alone his family.  He… he grieves miserably for them and feels their loss to this very day.  No… this is a lie.  A slanderous lie!”

      “Son… Charles was there.  He knew Gregory’s family and was present for the aftermath and Gregory’s flight.”

      “They fought, young Mr. Lestrade and his father.  Bitterly, from what I understand, despite the boy’s age.  I suppose he finally grew weary of the battle and put an end to it.”

Mycroft bared his fangs and found satisfaction in the fact that the normally unflappable Magnussen took a small step back at the sight.

      “Your flippancy is both insulting and inappropriate, Magnussen.  Pray you do not show such disrespect again.”

      “I do apologize, of course.  This is new to you, but an old wound for those whose lives Mr. Lestrade’s actions touched.  I did not wish to be here, on the eve of your wedding, bringing such… distressing news; however, I had to be certain that the Gregory Lestrade you were marrying was the very same who escaped justice so long ago.  It would not be proper to cast doubt on your fiancé if the doubt was unfounded, would it?”

Mycroft’s growl was deep and it was only his greatest force of will that was holding him back from attack.  The nearly-inaudible thread of amusement in Magnussen’s voice was _intolerable_ …

      “And we appreciate that, Charles.”

      “No, we most certainly do not!”

      “Mycroft… I know this is not what you wanted to hear.  It not what _I_ wanted to hear.  Your Gregory seemed… he seemed perfect for you and no one, not a soul, could doubt what you felt for him.  It is _his_ lie that has undone your union, not the truth that Charles has presented.”

      “Our union is not dissolved!  I… I will find him and learn the _truth_.  The truth, not this shameful assemblage of lies.”

Mycroft ripped the arrest order in half and hurled it to the floor, leaving his father and Magnussen to shake their heads and watch him storm out of the study.

      “This will kill his mother.  She adored Gregory.”

      “He was an affable boy, from what I remember.  Though, apparently, only up to the point where he was denied what he wanted.”

      “I suppose I will have to summon the authorities.”

      “My personal escort and I are prepared to bring him back to face trial in his own community.  They have waited too long to see him prosecuted for his truly horrific crime.”

      “Yes, that ultimately should be his fate; however, we need to make certain that all legalities are satisfied.  I will send a messenger immediately and… poor Mycroft.  I shall also make the announcement that the wedding is… I suppose I should show my son the kindness of saying it has been postponed.  He likely needs the semblance of hope right now and the belief that there might be some way to salvage this disaster.  Thank you, Charles.  I appreciate your efforts and I will not forget the favor you have done for my family.”

      “You are most welcome.  I simply could not stand by and see your son dishonored in such a way.”

      “Someday, perhaps, Mycroft will also thank you, but I do not think that time will be soon.”

      “Such is the way of the young.   Thinking with their hearts… hopefully, he will see this as a… growing experience.”

Mycroft would see it as the devastation of his soul, of that his father had no doubt.  And that was something for which, above all else, Gregory Lestrade would pay dearly.

__________

Lies.  It was an abominable pack of the most disgraceful lies.

_Then, why did Gregory run?_

Magnussen.  The man was a blight, and father and he both knew the man could not be trusted.

_But Gregory fled before even the accusation was laid._

His love’s pain for his family still throbbed, the sense of loss still haunted him.

_Then why did he flee?_

Mycroft’s mind was a barely-functional mass of confusion as he left the study and he quickly turned to bat form to more quickly move through the corridors, sniffing the air to find traces of his beloved and track his movements.  Which wasn’t working very well.  His mind was so scattered and the blasted torches and candles filled his nostrils with the scent he least wanted to smell at the moment.  Now and then he thought he caught traces of his fiancé’s aroma, but it quickly faded and nowhere he looked could be find a trace of Lestrade.  Finding the first open portal, Mycroft flew into the night trying, again to find any trace of his lover, but it seemed that his mind and nose refused to let go of the image of fire and burning and that was all he could sense besides the well-remembered scent of summer.  He checked their new home, the cottage, the lake, and made a pass through the town and over Mrs. Hudson’s shop, finding no evidence of the man his heart still loved with an intensity that was becoming painful as it warred with the villainous words of the even more villainous Magnussen.

 Deciding that his aerial search was useless, Mycroft returned home to gather the staff to set out on foot and horseback to locate his missing partner and, with his mind, still a chaos of conflicting thoughts, collided with Sherlock while turning a corner, bowling over the small vampire like a fallen tree.

      “Assault!  And I have a witness!”

Mycroft blinked the ugly red haze out of his eyes and focused on his brother and Mrs. Hudson who was standing next to him, fixing Mycroft with an intense and penetrating stare.

      “Not now, Sherlock.”

      “Mycroft… what’s going on?  And don’t lie, because I’ll know.”

      “It… I cannot discuss the matter at the moment, Mrs. Hudson.  I must find Gregory.”

      “Already you have lost your husband.  I can summon no surprise for the fact because, in all honesty, you could well have consumed him whole, confusing his bony body for a leg of a roasted lamb.”

      “ENOUGH!”

Sherlock scurried behind Mrs. Hudson and hid behind her legs, scarcely daring to peek out and witness his brother’s fury.

      “I’ll say it is!  You come here, Mycroft Holmes, and we’re going to have a talk.  Something’s very wrong and I can’t help if I don’t know what it is.”

Mycroft felt his rage begin to ebb and not by, from what he could determine, his own doing.  Though, it did spike again when his ear was grabbed and used to drag him along to his rooms, Sherlock being dragged along behind them.  Twice tonight he’d been forcibly moved from place to place and neither time did he enjoy the experience.  At least, this time, he would likely not be the beneficiary of catastrophic news.

      “Now… what’s going on?  Your father is acting very strangely and neither you nor Greg have been seen in quite awhile.”

      “Truly, Mrs. Hudson, I cannot spare the time…”

      “Now, Mycroft.  Please, boy… let an old lady help.”

Mycroft bit his lip, both to quiet the overpowering urge to race out and continue seeking his fiancé and because he feared that if he uttered those unforgiveable lies... it might make them real.

      “Come on… tell Mrs. Hudson what’s bothering you.”

      “May I leave because I truly do not care what is worrying the wobbler?”

      “Shut it, you little brat.  Go on, Mycroft.”

Knowing Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t leave the issue alone, Mycroft let the despicable tale flow from his lips, suffering the sting of the untruths like nettles across his lips.

      “WHAT! That is absurd!  Lestrade would never do that!  That greasy excuse for a worm is lying!”

Mycroft felt his heart lighten hearing Sherlock’s vehement belief in his fiancé’s innocence.  His Gregory was loved so fiercely… he could _not_ have done such a despicable thing!

      “I agree. But… I cannot deny the arrest order.  It appeared very genuine and could easily be verified, so I doubt it is a fabrication.”

      “You looked for him already, didn’t you?”

      “That, Mrs. Hudson, is where I have been the past hour or so.  I could not detect him and returned here mount a broader search.  I checked every location I could think he would likely go and… I cannot even c…catch the slightest whiff of his scent.”

Mrs. Hudson took the distraught vampire in a firm hug and let him try and breathe through his upset, stroking his hair and muttering quiet nonsense until he was able to shove down the newly-summoned demons.

      “Alright, first off… all that talk about Greg is a load of bollocks.  I don’t believe one word of it and, unless I hear it right from his mouth, I never will.  But… we _do_ have to hear something from his lips or we can’t fight this idiocy.  Let me think…”

That truly was the most imminent concern.  Without his Gregory’s input, there was no manner by which they could combat Magnussen’s untruths.  But Mycroft was keenly aware of the degree of his mental instability at the moment because his mind wandered to a distressing possibility, one that he was ashamed to admit he _would_ consider if it was available to him.

      “As horrendous as is the idea, I now wish I had not demanded Sherlock remove the spells from his…influence figure.  It would make this a much simpler matter.”

      “Oh, dear lord.  What in the world got into you, Sherlock?  Those are incredibly dangerous and the magic to make them is black as pitch!”

      “I disagree.  I had no foul intentions and no loss of life, human, animal or even vegetable occurred during the fabrication.”

      “Don’t try and quibble with me, young man.  I know that ritual and there’s not a shred of good in it.  But… _did_ you remove the spells like Mycroft asked?”

      “It was that or he was going to spread my soil from the grave of a heretic on Mummy’s  jasmine.”

      “Drat.  It would have been useful… however… what did you use as an anchor?”

      “Hairs that I retrieved from the cottage.”

      “How many?”

      “I took a dozen or so, but used nine in my spell.”

      “Did you keep the rest?”

      “No, I assumed that if I needed more they would not be difficult to obtain.”

      “That’s ok.  What we have should be enough.  Mycroft, where’s the doll?”

Mycroft cocked an eye at the witch and walked over to a chest near his bed, where he extracted a smaller chest and removed the doll it contained.

      “I… I did not want it to become damaged.  It is quite a good likeness and Sherlock did work very hard on its construction.”

And it was a calming thing to hold when he missed his fiancé too greatly.

      “Well, I do have to admit you did a good job on it, lad.  The footprint of your spell is still visible and I can’t say you made a poor showing of it.  Now, where did you put the hairs?”

      “Two each in the legs of his trousers, as well as the sleeves of his shirt and one woven into the hair of his head, the remainder of which I collected from Cook’s kitchen hound.  It is colored much the same as Lestrade and possesses the same level of intellect.”

      “Now’s not the time for your tongue, boy.  I’ll not be able to find the one in his hair, but the rest should be fine for what I have in mind.”

Which was, Mycroft hoped, nothing to add more stress to his already surreal evening.

      “And what is that, if I may ask?”

      “A location spell.  Bring me a map and I’ll get started.”

Mycroft snatched the doll out of Mrs. Hudson’s hands as she began to remove its trousers, snarling slightly as he turned and undressed his lover-by-proxy and retrieved the eight hairs, dressing his Gregory again when he was done.

      “Now, kindly do not molest Gregory in my absence.”

Mycroft gave his brother an especially ferocious glare and went off in search of a map.

      “He is deranged.  If we do not lay these lies to rest, I fear for my safety and that of anyone who is sufficiently unfortunate to cross my brother’s path.”

      “Well, I can’t say you’re wrong about that last bit, let’s make sure we clear Greg’s name as quickly as we can.  I’ll need a few things… you have any silver thread?”

      “Numerous spools of it.”

      “I’ll need a good forearm’s worth and see what you have for a bit of quartz.  The clearer the better.  Oh!  A piece of charcoal and a little dried rye grass.  Just in case, run down to the kitchen and see if you can find a sheep’s eye, too.  May not need it, but it’s good to be prepared.”

Sherlock dashed off to find the necessary materials and surprised himself by actually being more concerned with finding Lestrade than learning a very useful and powerful spell.  Something was definitely wrong with him this evening.  Perhaps it was the wine he had stolen… sampled.  It did taste rather off…

__________

Mycroft watched anxiously as Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock worked their wonders and the small charcoal stick moved around the map he had procured, finally making a clear pattern of intersected lines near where he knew their new house to be.

      “But… I investigated that area.  He was not there.”

      “Maybe not then, but he is now, though… hold on.”

The charcoal stick started to move again, this time, laying down lines even closer to the house.  Apparently, his Gregory was trying to run home.  At least, that was what Mycroft decided to believe and no one would shake that idea from him for any reason.

      “He’s on the move.  Here, take this.  It’ll let you know when you’re getting close and give you a hand finding him if you lose him again.”

Mycroft watched as Mrs. Hudson used a hammer inscribed with various symbols and runes to crack the piece of quartz she’d used for her spell and pick up a small fragment, which she then wrapped with a tiny bit of silver wire.

      “There… that should be small enough for you to carry with your little bat feet and it’ll work just as well as the full-scale model.  Now, go.  I’d suspect your dad has sent for the authorities and they’ll start their own search too quickly for our purposes.  You need to be the one to find Greg first.”

That he did.  Mycroft took his prize and raced out of his bedroom stopping only a moment to transform and grab the wrapped crystal with his feet, then sped off in the direction of his house.  With the tribulation of this night, his Gregory must be terrified… yes, he needed to find him first.  Calm him, reassure him of the undying devotion in his heart… and make certain he wrested the real story from the man who did seem, unfortunately, to have not told him the entire truth.

__________

The little bat landed near the house and, after transforming, Mycroft picked up the small crystal and was relieved to see it was glowing faintly.  He was _also_ relieved that there was no scent of any humans in the area, so a search party had not reached this location yet.  Quickly running inside, the vampire began calling his lover’s name and, receiving no response, continued to run through the house, finally searching the cellars, where the crystal glowed more brightly than ever.  However, his Gregory was nowhere to be found.

As Mycroft checked and double-checked every room, an ugly thought slithered through his brain and he began swearing with words that would offend his mother monstrously because his Gregory had shown Mrs. Hudson around the cellars to better hide the doors to the tunnels so, naturally, would know how to reveal them and conceal them again to create a hiding place.  And _he_ had not thought to ask for those particular secrets himself.

As Mycroft kicked at the stone walls with a growing anger, he let out a roar of frustration, seeing the light in the crystal dim, meaning he was getting farther and farther from his target.  Or, rather, his target was getting farther and farther from him.  Abandoning the idea of trying to tear down the walls of the cellar to reveal his lover’s escape route, Mycroft dashed back outside and took again to the skies, using the small crystal to guide his path which led him, eventually and somewhat surprisingly, to the cottage.  Landing and running inside, Mycroft looked around and, seeing his fiancé’s possessions still in place, tore open the trap door to the basement and hurried down the ladder to wait to see if Lestrade was hoping to retrieve them.

After a few minutes, the vampire heard a small scuffing sound as if stone was being shoved over soil and he saw part of the wall for the cottage’s own seemingly closed-off tunnel swing out and his beloved’s head peek through, look around and fail to see him standing in the darkness.

      “Hello, Gregory.”

Lestrade’s gasp of surprise sounded loud in the enclosed space and Mycroft cursed that, rather than stepping out fully, his lover darted back into the tunnel, closing the door after him.  Fortunately, it took less than a handful of minutes for the highly-agitated Mycroft to reduce the door to pebbles and chase after his lover.  After a few moments, the vampire saw a figure running ahead of him who, damn it all, did not stop when he called, shouted or begged and had a small lit torch to help light his way.  With a surge of something that was certainly not speed, Mycroft suddenly found himself standing in front of Lestrade, who had to stop sharply to avoid hitting the man he loved.

      “How… how’d you do that?”

      “I… I have absolutely no idea.  I should not be able to accomplish that feat for another century or two, if not more.”

      “Oh.  Well done, you.”

      “Yes… quite.  Though that is not our most critical topic of conversation at the moment.”

      “No, I suppose not.”

      “You fled from our party when you spied Magnussen speaking with father.”

      “It seemed the smartest idea at the time.”

      “Do you… have you an idea of what news Magnussen delivered?”

Mycroft hated the resigned and bitter laugh that sounded against the tunnel walls.

      “Yeah, I do.”

      “And?”

      “What do you want me to say, Mycroft?”

      “Gregory, please do not make this more difficult that it is already.  I am here to talk to you and, more importantly to help you.  _Talk_ to me, my beloved.”

Mycroft wished greatly that his fiancé would douse his accursed torch, because the horrendous stench it was emitting, combined with his love’s overpowering distress was nauseating.

      “It’s not true, is that what you want to hear?  Whatever that bastard said, it’s not true.  Nothing he says is _ever_ true.”

      “And I believe that with my whole heart, Gregory.  I assure you of that.  Father... Father, however, is not as wholly convinced as am I.”

      “I don’t imagine he would be.  Must have been a punch to the gut for both of you.”

      “That is not an inappropriate description.”

      “But I promise you, Mycroft, I _promise_ you, that it’s not true.  I didn’t start that fire.  Not that one.  I did _not_ start that fire.”

The reassurance was good, it was a blessed relief, but, now, there was something else niggling in his mind.

      “Not _that_ one.  Gregory, what do you mean by that?”

It was clear that his love’s torment was escalating and Mycroft stepped forward to provide comfort, shocked that Lestrade leapt backwards to avoid the closeness.

      “Gregory!  Please, my dear, my most beloved, let me help you.  Now is not the time to hide anything.”

Mycroft watched Lestrade run his hands through his hair and pace frantically back and forth in the small, enclosed space.

      “You don’t know what you’re asking, Mycroft.  Just let me go and I won’t be a problem for you anymore.”

      “Nonsense!  I have no intention of _ever_ letting you go.  You will be my husband and that is the end of the matter.  Your burdens and troubles are mine to share and share them I will.  Now, tell me your story, Gregory.  I know there _is_ one and I want to know it in full detail.”

      “No, you don’t.”

      “I know well my own mind, Gregory Lestrade.  Do not assume that what I say is something I do not mean wholeheartedly.”

Lestrade stared into Mycroft’s eyes and the vampire returned his gaze with equal intensity until something within the human broke sending a rush of sadness into his eyes and he dropped his torch, stubbing it out with his boot.

      “Alright, but remember... you wanted this.”

In the next second, Mycroft was nearly blinded by the flare of light as the unlit torches dotting the walls of the tunnel suddenly burst into flames and filled the corridor with a bright and brilliant light.

      “Gregory...”

      “See why they think it was my fault?”

      “You... you are a firestarter?”

      “Surprise.  Not really what you want for a husband, right?”

Mycroft stared at the man he was slated to marry and had no idea how to respond.  His love was wrong, he was still the man he wanted as a husband, however...

      “Yeah, I thought so.  Just go home, Mycroft.  I’m going to take a tunnel away from here and hope that I can leave the region before anyone can find me.   I love you, Mycroft... I always will.  Go home and find someone...”

      “I WILL NOT!  I will do no such thing!  I will... it is taking a moment, I admit, to digest this new information, however... it changes nothing of the foundation of my love for you.  I will further admit that I am not content with the fact that you concealed your nature from me, more so, perhaps, than your own agitation when I revealed my nature to you, because I did so early on and you... were you ever going to tell me?”

      “I didn’t want to, no, and if everything had gone to plan I wouldn’t have needed to, anyway.”

      “I... I do not understand.”

      “It’s simple.  Nobody wants to be married to someone who’s cursed.  Nobody.  People don’t want to even _know_ someone who’s cursed.  Especially... especially when that curse has already cost his family one house and a number of scars for their troubles.”

Mycroft felt the nausea he had been suffering flare and, as a bonus, endured a sharp snap of shame from the few steps to took away from his fiancé.  Cursed?  His Gregory was cursed?  Why... who would curse someone so good and decent and... a child.

      “How... how did this happen to you?"

      “How does it ever happen?  Someone in my family, a long time ago, made an enemy of a witch, and a powerful one at that.  Once a generation, someone draws the lucky card and gets to suffer.  Or, I should say, be the one that makes _other_ people suffer.  People you care about… you hurt them and have to shoulder that guilt for the rest of your life.”

Mycroft smelled his lover’s upset rise sharply and understood, finally, why his nose had been filled all night with the smell of burning.  It was not the torches or memory… it was his fiancé.

      “And you _did_ hurt them.”

      “Imagine being a toddler and every time you get angry or upset, you set something or someone on fire.  You have a nightmare and your bed goes up in flames.  They don’t hurt you, they can’t, but anyone else in the room is at risk and suffers because of you.   I was six when I burned down our first house.  Right to ash.  Luckily, nobody got hurt, everyone got out in time, but I’d hurt them before and taken away things that were important because I’d burned them to ash, just like the house.  That was my life and… they still loved me, no matter what I’d done.  They loved me and never threw me out.  Then… then they were gone.  Everyone who loved and trusted me unconditionally was gone.  All I had left were the people in the community, who knew _who_ I was and not just what I was, but as soon as the fire took my family and the word spread that it was my fault…  I lost them, too.”

This time, when Mycroft moved forward to take his fiancé in his arms, Lestrade didn’t protest and embraced his vampire with a firm, nearly crushing hug and Mycroft marveled that he never questioned his lover’s much-adored heat.  Heat that exceeded what he had ever felt from any human he had touched.

      “My dearest, dearest Gregory… I cannot for a moment fathom your pain, your grief and loss.  And to know that your misery began so very young… why did you not tell me?  I love you desperately and you could not truly have believed that I would forsake you after learning your news.”

      “No… yes… I didn’t know.  Maybe it wouldn’t be you having the problem, maybe it would be your mum and dad, but I… I was trying to make sure it wouldn’t be an issue.  It’s not been as much of a problem as I’ve gotten older, but there’s still a worry and I was _not_ going to put you or any of your family in danger.”

      “How?  How could you hope to achieve that?”

      “Break the curse.”

      “Can you… surely if it could be broken, it would have by now.”

      “I thought that maybe, if I could find a strong enough witch, they could do something.  I’ve asked a few I’ve met in my travels and they said it _might_ be possible, but they didn’t have the skill or power to even try.  Things are different now, though.  I thought maybe I’d met someone powerful enough and… she thought maybe I had, too.”

      “MRS. HUDSON?”

      “She approached me first, actually.  Sensed something was wrong and forced it out of me.  She thought she could help me, but it would take some time.  Mrs. Hudson _did_ think she could break the curse and then you’d never have to know you were married to a freak.  And I’d never again have to worry about hurting you.”

Lestrade wouldn’t meet Mycroft’s eye until the vampire gently caressed his cheek and moved slightly to look him full in the face.

      “You are not a freak, Gregory.  No more than am I.  You are a stellar, amazing man with special abilities that do not, in any manner, compromise your character or humanity.  I wish you would have told me, though.  I could have turned the whole of my resources towards your dilemma, funded whatever Mrs. Hudson needed… given you every assurance that my love and devotion were unwavering.  And… perhaps we could have addressed this specific problem before it actually became one.  I saw the arrest order, Gregory.  You are still wanted to stand trial for your supposed crimes.  What happened, my dear?  Why did you not face justice at that time and let your innocence be determined?”

      “Because it wouldn’t have!  One, I was only a kid and I… I had no idea about what to do.  Everyone thought I did it and I’d just lost my entire family in one night… I could barely think well enough to remember my name, let alone try and defend myself.  It didn’t get that far, anyway.”

      “Explain this to me, Gregory.  Tell me what happened so that I can, at the very least, be the first voice in your defense.”

Lestrade nodded and motioned Mycroft to follow him further down the tunnel where there was less dust and take a seat with him on the ground.

      “It was like this.  My dad and I had been fighting a little, maybe, though, fighting isn’t the right word.  We were arguing, debating… he wanted me to go to school, well, go to _more_ school, that is.  We owned property on both sides of the river and he was going to build another storehouse and maybe even another mill.  We were doing well, really well, and I was the second son, so he thought I’d be the one who he’d eventually put in charge of that part of the business.  And I didn’t want it!  That wasn’t what I enjoyed, it wasn’t what I wanted to do.  So, here I was, just a kid and my life was being shoved in a direction that I absolutely didn’t want.  That night we’d had a big fight and I got so angry… I took a horse and got as far away from the house as I could before something bad happened.  I know I was seen, I saw some of our own workers and the neighboring famers when I was riding.  I rode out to spot I used to like, a little wooded area by the river and sat there until I cooled off.  And yes, I had to put out a few small little fires that I set when I started thinking about how the life I wanted was being taken away from me.  When I rode back… I didn’t even have to get close to the house to smell the smoke.  And people were running towards our mill…”

Lestrade had to stop for a moment to compose himself and Mycroft gave his fiancé their first kiss since his flight from their pre-wedding celebration.

      “Take your time, my dear.  I know this cannot be easy for you.”

      “It’s not.  I don’t talk about it for a good reason.  There’s too much I don’t want to think about because it hurts.  It hurts to remember that when one of our workers, someone I thought was a friend of the family, yelled for the authorities to come and arrest me.  One of the farmers we bought grain from shouting at me and asking why I’d kill my family.  I didn’t know what to do!  I just turned my horse around and rode away as fast as I could.  I never even saw what was left of my house or… my family.  I just rode and rode and didn’t stop until the horse couldn’t take another step.  I eventually traded it for some new clothes, a pack and some food, then set out on foot and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since.  Luckily, news doesn’t travel far or fast if it doesn’t involve other people’s lives, so what I was accused of never dogged my heels.  I’ve never run into anyone who’d even heard of what happened, but that doesn’t mean I ever forgot about it or stopped worrying that, one day, I’d be caught.  And, if I was caught, I knew… I knew I’d either never see my freedom again or, possibly, find myself hanging from the branch of a tree.  Either way, Magnussen would get what he wanted.”

Now, Mycroft’s ears pricked up sharply and his mind snapped quickly back to the person who had savagely destroyed his life.

      “How was Magnussen involved?”

      “I don’t know, but he _was_ , I’m sure of it.  He’d been trying for a long time to buy our mill, storehouse and land, on both sides of the river.  He’d been pressing our buyers and the farmers to do business elsewhere which, luckily, wasn’t working very well, but we did lose some loyal customers because of his pressure.  My dad thought… we owned the water rights for some distance since we had property on both sides of the river and he thought Magnussen wanted to gain that for some… maybe a tax situation for people transporting goods?  He didn’t know, but there had to be _some_ reason Magnussen wanted our land so badly.  And…  I saw the bastard talking to some of our workers.  A few of them, he talked a lot to and it was one of them that yelled for people to find the authorities to arrest me.  Only once did I sneak back near to home and I talked to our mill foreman, someone I’d known since I was a baby and he said Magnussen was frantic to find me.  He even offered a reward for anyone with information about where I might have gone.  He’d seen the bastard talking to some of our workers, too, and didn’t trust him as far as he could throw a cart.  He was causing trouble and our foreman said, flat out, he thought Magnussen had something to do with the fire and was trying to have me blamed for it.”

      “Owning water rights _is_ a rare and precious thing, I must admit, and can be used very unscrupulously by the right individual.  Why though, Gregory?  Why would he care so much about _you_?  You were just a child”

      “Here’s what I think.  He really does want our land and I think he had that fire set.  Probably thought that people would think I was the one who’d done it, since I’d done it before.  Not many people know that fires can’t hurt me, so he likely thought the whole business would be clean and easy; there’s not much cleaner than a bunch of dead people with nobody to speak against you.  Then, with all of us gone, he could probably find a way to get our land cheaply… he had, from what I heard my dad say, a lot of powerful friends who could help him get his way.  But, if I was still alive, then _I_ owned our land and he wouldn’t be able to take it unless I was convicted of my family’s death or I joined them.  As long as I was free and never brought to trial, that land was still legally mine and he couldn’t snatch it up.”

      “So, he has a vested interest in seeing you brought to justice.  And… though it pains me to admit it, I see where your history could work against you, especially if he could use his influence to sway the magistrates.  Do you have knowledge if he had already made inroads in that direction?”

      “I know he did.  Heard my dad say that one day… that we had to make sure everything we did was absolutely above board because if we did anything that was even a _bit_ shady, Magnussen would have us brought up in front of the law.  Not that my dad was dishonest, he wasn’t.  Always said we could be a lot richer than we were if he was a little more greedy and disreputable.  If I go back for trial, I don’t stand a chance of being found innocent.  Not that I have even the slightest idea, even with honest magistrates, of how I’d prove my innocence.  There’s no evidence that I didn’t do it, not one bit.  But, there are good reasons to believe that I _did_ set that fire.  And… if _he_ gets to take me back, I’m not certain I’d make it back alive, anyway.  It would be a lot easier to say I tried to escape and had an ‘accident’ while they tried to recapture me.”

Mycroft’s blood ran very, very cold despite his partner’s furnace-like heat, because he was well aware that, though the odds of Gregory’s acquittal were slim, they did exist.  However, one cannot acquit a dead body, especially one fleeing justice.

      “Knowing Magnussen as I do, I cannot deny the possibility.  I have never heard of any deaths he, himself has caused, but I have heard rumors of the unseemly ways he uses his influence and sources of information.  There _have_ been deaths because of that and, it is entirely conceivable that he would employ such measures to visit harm on your family.”

      “I didn’t know what to do, love.  When I saw him, I mean.  I knew what he’d say and I… I can’t let him take me back, Mycroft.  I’ll lose everything – you, us… losing my life is actually what I fear least.  Rotting in a prison cell, knowing that as long as I was alive you’d have hope and… I can’t bear the thought of you ruining your life for me when you could find someone else who didn’t bring shame onto…”

      “Stop.  Stop right there.  Yes, I would hold out hope, but that would not be my ruin.  My ruin would be knowing that my greatest love suffered a cruel injustice at the hands of a reprehensible man.  And I would not stop trying to undo that injustice, not ever, as long as we both lived.  For what it is worth, I believe I can convince Father not to let Magnussen take you and… I am hopeful that he will hear your words and know them to be true as do I.  And Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson.  Sherlock was very aggrieved to hear the accusations laid against you and was very strident in his defense of your honor.”

      “Really?  That’s… that’s good to know.  He’s a smart one, but… he’s also not _stupid_ and the evidence against me is pretty strong.  I hope he continues to believe in me once he hears the whole story.”

      “Believe in you?  He shall _worship_ you… a firestarter as his brother-in-law?  Do you have any idea how many experiments he will plan for you and spells for which he will summon your assistance?  I believe Sherlock will now be your most ardent supporter, if only for the benefits it gains him.”

Mycroft smiled gently at his fiancé and felt a delicious thrill when it was returned.  And a larger one arose when his lover extended a hand and called up a small blaze to dance merrily in the palm and along the fingers.

      “Whatever he wants.  I’ve tried to make the best of my curse as I could.  Never had to live without a fire, so warmth and a hot meal were something I enjoyed more often than a lot of people in my situation.  I never intentionally used it against another person, though.  Never.  Not even when I was getting pummeled by someone who was drunk or hoping to take the few things I do own.  I can’t say it never came out and acted on its own, because that would be a lie, but I never, not once, tried to hurt anyone.  I know what it means to burn a person, I saw it happen to the ones I loved and I never, ever, would willingly do that to anyone.  It’s horrible, Mycroft.  The most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.  It’s so hard for me to imagine something so beautiful being so destructive, but I know it is.  I love it, maybe because it’s so much a part of me, but I never lose sight of what my fire is capable of.”

Mycroft watched the flame in Lestrade’s palm and fell in love with his fiancé all over again.  His beloved was such a complex man, so vibrant, yet possessing a depth that was _intoxicating_ …

      “Are you _certain_ you wish the curse lifted, my dear?  I know you have suffered greatly because of it, however, I see clearly that a part of you treasures your talent and finds it pleasurable.”

      “Can vampires burn to death?”

      “Ah… the answer to that is yes, but the burning must leave nothing but ash in its wake.  And, as for humans, we feel the pain of the burning in its full fury.”

      “Then I want the curse lifted.  I’m not going to risk having a nightmare and you getting hurt because of it.  That hasn’t happened in a very long time, but it’s still not a risk I’m willing to take with us sharing a bed every night.  And you know Sherlock… he can even make _you_ lose control.  One day that will be me and I can’t have there be even the slightest possibility that he feels the real evil of this curse.  Mrs. Hudson is pretty confident she can break it, given time.  I just hope I have the time to give her.”

The flame doused in Lestrade’s palm and Mycroft quickly grasped his lover’s hand, relishing the remaining heat from both the fire and his Gregory’s natural inner blaze.

      “You shall.  Together we will see the end of this treachery and seal our union, just as we had planned.”

      “Don’t suppose we could just run off somewhere together, could we?”

      “We could… but the worries that haunt you would never abate and I feel, that with his near success, Magnussen would focus his efforts on finding you.  If and when he did… this second flight would likely seal your doom.”

      “Yeah, you’re right.  It’s a nice thought though, isn’t it?”

      “Oh yes, I will certainly not deny its appeal.  But we must lay this to rest first.  It will not be easy, I fear, but we shall prevail, my love.  We _shall_ , of that I have no doubt.”

This time, it was Lestrade who stole a kiss from his partner’s lips and for a few moments the engaged pair put all thoughts out of their minds to revel in the love they shared.

      “If you believe it, Mycroft, I’ll try to, too.”

      “I shall not fail you, Gregory, and I will do everything I can to convince Father and Mummy of your innocence.  Their assistance will be immeasurably beneficial in the battle to come.  And do not discount Mrs. Hudson.  At the very least, she can assure the townspeople that the slanderous accusations against you have no merit.  Her opinion is highly valued and I believe she can prevent this community from harboring doubts as did your former one.  You have allies, my dear… do not believe for a moment that you are alone.”

Mycroft sighed deeply, then stood and reached down to offer his hand, which Lestrade slowly, but eventually took, to rise and stand next to his vampire.

      “I guess we should go back now.”

      “It is best that you are gone for as short a time as possible.  The less evidence they have to demonstrate your guilt, the better.”

      “Alright, then.  Can we, at least, get my things?  You know, I think we can say we found out why the witches were allowed to have a cottage on your family’s land.”

      “I had not thought of that.  Yes, I can easily imagine that deal being struck.  I would assume a witch was a part of creating and concealing the original tunnel system in the first place.  Perhaps this cottage was part of her reward.”

      “Then I’ll say it’s a good omen.  I lived here and it’s helped out your family, so maybe that’s a little extra luck I can borrow.”

      “I feel certain it will happily accommodate you.  It has stood lonely for so long and you have treated it with respect and affection.  Come, let us retrieve your belongings, then we shall make our way home.  I… I do not know if you will be able to remain with us while we rectify this state of affairs, but I shall see that you are as comfortable as possible, if you must live away from me for some time.”

      “Thanks.  Really, thank you.  And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier.  I really did hope that this would never have to haunt you like it did me.”

      “I know and I adore you for it.”

Mycroft led his fiancé up to the cottage and gathered Lestrade’s few things in the now-familiar pack, then both made their way back to the tunnel, where Lestrade took the lead to start their journey back to Mycroft’s house.  Neither would admit how scared they were or voice any of the worries that their confident words had tried to hide.  One thing they both knew, though, was that they would face this challenge together.  And, together, there was very little that was beyond their reach…


	14. Chapter 14

Mycroft took great care to ensure that he and his fiancé encountered no other people as they snuck through the corridors of his house and stuck his head first into his father’ study to ensure his sire was quite alone before allowing Lestrade to follow him into the room.

      “I see.  Well done, Mycroft.  I’ll send a messenger to find the constables and…”

      “No, you will not.  At least, not until you have heard what Gregory has to say in full and encompassing detail.”

      “What more can he possibly say that I have not already learned?”

Mycroft snarled at his father’s contemptuous words and forcibly held back leaping across the room and teaching the older man that proper respect should be shown to his future spouse.

      “When my fiancé has told his tale, I expect you to offer him your most sincere apology and if he chooses to withhold forgiveness for your betrayal, I shall honor it and you shall not be made welcome in our home until his mind on the subject has changed.”

Mycroft’s fangs were fully extended and, with the fires blazing in his eyes, the watchword for this conversation, the elder Holmes decided, was _caution_.  His son was barely holding in a truly volcanic fury and would show no hesitation if he had sufficient reason to release it on the first victim to cross his path and his temper.  And, at this moment, the only available victim was _him_.

      “I will endeavor to keep an open mind.”

Mycroft’s new snarl spoke clearly of his dissatisfaction with the rather thin and twiggy olive branch, but he lost it to a tender and supportive gaze as he turned to Lestrade and nodded for him to begin speaking.  Which the young firestarter did in as much detail as he could and with several rather impressive demonstrations added for emphasis, because he desperately wanted Mycroft’s father to believe him.  The help the man could provide would be incalculably valuable, but, more importantly, he _wanted_ to be believed.  He didn’t want to have to live with the knowledge that the people he’d come to care about honestly thought he was a murderer.  The pain of that was something he knew well and he wasn’t sure he could handle going through it a second time.

With Mycroft’s calming hand running up and down his back, Lestrade’s speech finally ground to a halt and he found he barely had the energy to continue to stand, let alone endure his future father-in-law’s verdict.

      “Mycroft, bring me that map.”

Mycroft followed the direction of his father’s pointing finger and with a warning glare, retrieved the map and unrolled the sizable piece of parchment across the study’s large desk.

      “Gregory, show me where you lived.”

Lestrade took a look over the map, found the land where his house had stood and pointed to it, though he had no idea how to interpret the long ‘hmmmm…’ from the older man.

      “And your father, now you, actually own the passage rights for this stretch of water?”

      “That’s what my dad said.  We’re the only ones who own land that the river actually runs _through_ , as opposed to acting as a border to the property, so we have some extra rights because of it.  Crossing our property by land or water without permission constitutes trespassing, though my dad never did anything about it.  Said it wasn’t the decent thing to do and I can’t say I feel any differently.”

It felt like an eternity for both Mycroft and Lestrade as they waited for another question, but that question never came.  Instead, both watched as the older vampire sat down again in his chair and let out a long and regretful sigh.

      “I do offer my apology, Gregory.  And it is a wholly sincere one.”

      “You… you believe me?”

Lestrade’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, so great was his surprise, and he clasped Mycroft’s hand very tightly with cautious excitement.

      “I do.  I wondered, actually, why Charles was here, in the first place.  I had assumed that he would have only a perfunctory interest in your wedding, perhaps sending along a gift to mark the occasion and prevent my taking insult at his ignoring the occasion, as other of my casual business acquaintances chose to do.  And, he had a tremendous distance to travel, necessitating long days of hard riding to arrive here before the ceremony.  It was entirely out of character for him to be in attendance, even if, as he claimed, it was to prevent an injury to my family and, I admit, I should have been more suspicious of his claims because of that. Now, I know the true reason he graced us with his presence.  If you wed Mycroft, my son would have taken possession of your land upon your death or incarceration, as part of the marriage agreement.  It would again be out of Charles’s hands and your spouse would not be an individual who he might press to sell the property for money to issue bribes for your freedom or to begin a new life without you after your trial.”

      “But why!  Why would he want a bit of farmland and a small mill?  It doesn’t make any sense.  If he knows… you… he has to have plenty enough money not to need our business.”

      “For some, there is no amount of wealth that can be called ‘enough.’  And, for some, it is the acquisition of power that attracts and motivates them.”

      “Power?  I’m sorry but that still doesn’t make much sense.  How much power can you get from setting a tariff on a few boats that trundle down the river carrying grain, sheep and cabbages?”

      “That may have been the case seven years ago, Gregory, but it is certainly not the case now.  Do you see these mountains?  Coincidentally, about seven years ago, several mines opened, lucrative ones and, now, materials come into and out of those mines along this river.  If Charles can choke their supply and distribution lines with prohibitive tariffs, he can pressure the owners… well, for whatever he wants.  And these individuals could give him _very_ respectable quantities of whatever he asks of them.  Further, and most damning, I know he has considered the idea because he has spoken about the situation in the past.  Not recently and, in honesty, I paid little attention at the time, but… this would serve his purposes nicely.  Your family held the key to a position of great power and denied it to him.  Unfortunately, good things do not happen to those who deny Charles what he desires.  I am profoundly sorry, Gregory.  For this situation, for your family and… for what you have had to suffer in this life.  I would ask that you forgive me for my doubts, but I understand if that is not something you can grant.”

Mycroft quickly wrapped an arm around his fiancé, who looked as if he was going to collapse from fatigue and the emotions that were putting a sheen across his lovely eyes.

      “No, I mean, yes… I mean, there’s nothing to forgive, really.  I can understand why you wouldn’t believe any different, hearing that bastard’s story.  And if he had an arrest order… I can see why you’d think what he said was true.”

      “That is magnanimous of you, son, and I will strive to remain worthy of that forgiveness.  Whatever I can do, I _will_ do to remove this stigma from your name.  However…”

      “It won’t be easy will it?”

      “No, Gregory… I do not believe it will.”

Mycroft cut his eyes between his father and his lover and tried to discern the source of their pessimism.

      “I fail to see why not.  The evidence clearly indicates that…”

      “What evidence, love?”

The vampire sputtered and began to prepare a list of items to enumerate.  Then realized his list was empty.

      “Can’t think of anything can you?”

      “Gregory is correct, Mycroft.  We have implication, supposition, insinuation… but no unambiguous evidence to demonstrate that Charles is the true villain in this tragedy.  And, I suspect there is _no_ evidence to gather, at this point.  He will not have turned his own hand to this evil act, he would have, shall we say, persuaded another to do the deed and it is very likely that finding that person and prying from them the necessary denunciation will be next to impossible.  Against Gregory there stands an existing bias and his flight, both then and now, from the authorities.  The first of those flights being a criminal offense on its own merits.  _I_ believe him, as will your mother, but our confidence has no legal standing.”

Mycroft felt his cooling anger heat up again and if his hands were not on his spouse to provide comfort, they would be involved in something far more energetic.  And destructive.

      “Then we are no further along than we were when that fiend of a man arrived in our home.”

      “I would not say that, no.  We are now aware of the true situation and Gregory has the support of his new family to see him through this trial.  Further, with a clear understanding of the problem, we can work to find some solution and, as you know, it is mark of the Holmes family that we conquer _any_ challenge laid in our path.”

Which was something Mycroft had to cling to with all his might because he could not, _could not_ , lose the man he loved to a vile and wicked lie.  Magnussen’s deceit could not defeat them or he would be an empty husk for the remainder of his very long life… and his beloved would suffer a far worse fate…

      “Then what do we do?  We cannot allow Gregory to return to a land that does not give him welcome and would not lend an objective and unbiased ear to his plea.  And he, quite rightly I feel, fears that if he is handed over to Magnussen, he will not survive sufficiently long to see a trial, in any case.”

      “Something that Charles has already requested.  He offered to escort Gregory back for judgment, however, I declined that particular assistance.  Knowing better now the situation, I shall not change my stance for it is all too likely that Gregory is correct in his assessment.  I think… it _might_ be possible to move the trial to a more hospitable and neutral location.  Failing that, there is no reason that his transport cannot be monitored by family and allies.  I do assure you, Gregory, that your welfare will not be jeopardized in any of this.  Magnussen’s reach is neither as far nor as deep as is mine, so you can set aside any concern for your safety.”

Lestrade breathed a large sigh of relief and felt some small relaxing of his muscles, which was certainly encouraged by Mycroft’s continued, loving touch.  There wasn’t any reason to feel very optimistic at the moment, but, at the very least, he could lose the worry that he’d be tossed into a jail cell to be watched over by some guard that had taken a few bits of silver as payment for making this his last day on the planet.

      “Thank you, sir.  I… I appreciate that.  I don’t want to be a bother, but I don’t want to be dead, either.”

      “Yes, that _would_ rather work against our desired outcome.  And Mycroft would be a completely beastly mourner.  Moaning and howling through the corridors for centuries on end.  He might even dethrone Sherlock as the family’s primary source of headaches.”

The small teasing drew an honest laugh from Lestrade and Mycroft’s irritation paled in comparison to his joy hearing his fiancé’s amusement at his father’s pitiful and completely exaggerated jest.

      “Yeah, don’t want that on my conscience.  I’ll… I’ll probably have to spend some time in the jail, though, won’t I?”

      “I would like to say no, but I fear that might very well be the case.  Perhaps, it is even for the best, as the more closely we hold to legal procedures, the more credence it lends to our stand that we are confident your innocence will be proven through the process of a trial.  In truth, if I refuse to hand you to the authorities, there is nothing they could do to change that fact, but I do not believe it to be in your best interest for me to do so.”

      “But, Father… we have rooms available and the local constabulary could assign men…”

      “It’s ok, love.  I understand what your dad means.  Doesn’t want it to appear like we’re hiding anything or he’s using any influence.  I should be treated like anyone else would for everything to look above board and proper.  That way, when my name’s clear, there won’t be any doubt.  No lingering suspicion that it was your dad’s position and money that won the day and not the truth.  I’m not saying I like it, but I do understand.  And you’ll be able to visit me, right?  Stop in for a little conversation and to check I’m being treated well.  It’s going to be alright, Mycroft.  I promise I’ll be fine.”

Something of which the vampire was not at all convinced.  His Gregory, away from his eyes and arms, was highly vulnerable and that was not acceptable.  Not at all.  His fiancé was _his_ to safeguard and letting him be taken into other hands was _intolerable_.  Though… and it shredded his heart to admit it… he had no choice but to tolerate the circumstances, because his dearest love was correct.  To fully and unquestionably clear his good name, there could be not a hint of impropriety in the proceedings.

      “And I _will_ visit, my dear.  I will spend every possible minute at your side so you always have access to whatever you need or desire during your incarceration.  However, if I note any neglect or mistreatment by your jailors, I shall not be held responsible for my actions.”

      “Son, tearing out the throats of our law enforcers will not assist your Gregory.  However, any ill-treatment Gregory experiences _will_ be dealt with and in a supremely harsh manner the moment you inform me of the fact.  I do have a great deal of say as to who holds the law-enforcement and magisterial positions in our little town, and, of course, who is allowed to keep house and home on my land.  Gregory _will_ be well-treated, Mycroft.  I will see to the matter personally.”

      “HE IS NOT _YOUR_ FIANCE!”

Mycroft knelt next to Lestrade, who had dropped to the ground and covered his head, hearing the savage roar raging in his ear.  Apparently, his fiancé still had a bit of trouble controlling his more possessive side… and family was not at all exempt from his wrath or his father wouldn’t have hopped behind that heavy chair for protection.

      “Oh, Gregory… I am so sorry, my love.  Please forgive me.”

      “I think I’m deaf.”

      “My poor beloved.  I did not mean to startle you so.  Come, sit and have a little wine.”

Snarling again at his father, this time without the ear-splitting noise, Mycroft gently helped Lestrade to his feet and escorted him to a small sofa, pouring some wine into a goblet to help soothe his fiancé’s frazzled nerves.

      “You will need help to see this situation turn in our favor, son, but your point is taken.  Gregory is _your_ fiancé and _your_ responsibility to protect and keep safe.  I offer my full assurance that you shall be included in every action or contemplation concerning your future spouse, though…”

Mycroft glared at his father and impatiently waved at him to continue, refusing to turn the lion’s share of his attention away from Lestrade whose heart was just beginning to resume a normal, sedate rhythm.

      “It would not be the spectacle for which you hoped, but there is no reason we cannot see you joined in marriage this very night.  Strategically, it would greatly reduce for Gregory the likelihood of threats against his welfare and, happily, put Charles’s prize forever out of his grasp.  Without a clear profit from his actions, there would be less motivation to assist the prosecution and … though he is not a stupid man by any measure, it might make him incautious.  Try, perhaps, some form of bargaining… evidence for Gregory’s defense in exchange for the property, which we could, subsequently, use to help support our own assertions.  What do you think?”

Think?  That wasn’t something Mycroft or Lestrade could do very well at the moment.  Marriage… tonight?  No guests, no ceremony… simply the exchange of vows and the signing of the marriage agreement?

      “YES!”

The in-unison shout was nearly as deafening as Mycroft’s feral outburst and the young vampire leapt towards the desk, tossing papers hither and yon, seeking the document his father had prepared for the wedding.

      “You will not find your marriage agreement there, I’m afraid.  Your mother is in our rooms crying over it at the moment.”

      “Mummy!  We must speak with mother.  My dear, wait here and finish your wine.  I will collect Mummy, our marriage agreement and the necessary witnesses.  Here… more wine.  Drink more wine.  It will calm you.  Not that you require calming, of course, but the principle is sound, in any case.  Father… see he drinks wine or I shall be very cross.”

Mycroft dashed out of the study and Lestrade felt the pain of even this short separation as a knife to the heart.

      “Are you certain you want this, Gregory?  Once bound, you must suffer Mycroft and the balance of his family for the remainder of your days.”

Lestrade laughed and leaned forward on the sofa, toying with his wine glass and watching the firelight dance off the cut crystal.

      “Well, I’ve got nothing better to do tonight, so what the hell.  Besides, the food’s good with you lot and I’ll be one more body standing between the troll army and Sherlock when he finally does something to incite a war.”

      “Very valid points.  I see most clearly why Mycroft has chosen you to be his spouse.”

      “Plus, you’re hoping that if anyone gets uppity with you, I’ll set their trousers on fire.”

      “Well, yes… there is that.”

__________

Mycroft stood, hand in hand, and pledged his undying love and faithfulness to the man at his side, openly crying when that same man returned the words to him and joined them together as husbands.  No matter what the coming days brought, he and his Gregory would meet it together as a married couple.

      “Well, that’s about the most honest and forthright wedding I’ve ever seen.  If I decide to put myself on the marriage market, this is the sort of ceremony I want.”

      “You are at least a thousand years old and lack the requisite feminine curvature to attract even the most desperate of males.  Besides, he would live forever in fear that you would belch at the dinner table and accidentally turn him into a frog.”

Mrs. Hudson swatted Sherlock soundly on the bottom and when he shrieked, made a series of hand gestures, rendering the boy blissfully mute.  Something that Sherlock railed strongly against, while the family enjoyed the noiseless pantomime.

      “My son is a married man… oh…”

Mycroft and Lestrade endured the crushing hug, first from Mycroft’s mother, and then Mycroft’s father and then Mrs. Hudson who insisted on being a witness to the marriage, once Mycroft had stopped shouting at her for failing to involve him in his husband’s predicament.  Sherlock confined his congratulations to a dismissive wave at the newlyweds, but neither had failed to notice the small flash of glee in the boy’s eyes when they signed their marriage document and laid the final seal on their union.

For his part, Mycroft felt nearly as incapable of speech as his muted brother and found himself unable to move his eyes from his husband’s form.  He _was_ a married man.  A man fully wed.  A husband.  A spouse.

      “Mycroft?”

Lestrade pressed a celebratory glass of wine into his vampire’s hands and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

      “Yes, my h… husband?”

      “You like the sound of that, don’t you?”

      “I cannot think of a finer sound to grace my ears.”

      “Well, you’ll get to say it a lot now and aren’t you lucky that I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

      “I am, indeed.  I regret I could not give to you the wedding you deserve, however, I am, at this moment, nearly delirious with joy and cannot, ultimately, find fault with the manner in which we pledged ourselves to each other.”

      “It was a great wedding!  The people we care about most were here and we didn’t have to spend an hour dressing to get ready for another hour or two of standing in front of people in our fancy clothes.  All I really care about is that it’s official and you, Mycroft Holmes, are my husband.  Nothing else is important, besides that.”

And, as always, his Gregory was absolutely correct.  There was only one important detail and that was the love they shared being solemnized for all eternity.  And the small fist pounding at his back.

      “Yes, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s wild gesticulations and nearly frantic expression prompted Mycroft to have Mrs. Hudson lift her spell and the small boy’s words began flowing out in a rapid jumble.

      “The constables are in the house!  I cast a warning spell to alert me if they entered and see!  The fluid in the vial has darkened!”

Mycroft grabbed Lestrade’s hand and looked to his father, who nodded and straightened his waistcoat.

      “Mycroft, take your husband to your rooms for what remains of your wedding night.  I shall divert their attention elsewhere and they will not dare intrude on our grounds during the daytime.  However… be prepared to hand over your husband tomorrow night.”

      “Yes.  Thank you, Father.”

A quick round of farewells preceded the new couple fleeing through one of the hidden corridors which led, in a roundabout way, to Mycroft’s personal suite.

      “I’m sorry for this, Mycroft.  I never wanted anything about my past to touch you.  Not ever and not in any way.”

The vampire ran his hand across his lover’s cheek and softly kissed his warm and slightly downturned lips.

      “It is my honor to know and be involved in all aspects of your life, Gregory… past, present and future.  And I shall open myself and all I am to you so you shall be as entwined in my existence as I am in yours.  This will pass, my love.  We _will_ be victorious and make our new house the home we will share as we see the years together.  Now, we have but little time together and I, for one, intend to use it as tradition demands.”

Mycroft hoped that he was using something that vaguely approximated a suggestive tone and enjoyed a small surge of satisfaction when Lestrade grinned widely and ran his tongue across his upper lip.

      “My Mycroft wants to christen that big bed of his with all sorts of nasty behaviors, is that what you’re saying?”

      “I believe that summarizes my wants quite handily, yes.  How tightly do they coincide with your own?”

      “Oh, _very_ tightly.  Very hotly, too.”

      “And my husband is an extremely hot individual, as I have come to discover.”

      “In more ways than one?”

      “Most assuredly.  When I feel his sultry skin against mine, my blood heats to an incalculable level and only the most vigorous of actions can quench its fire.”

      “I like vigorous.  I like it a lot.”

      “Then, shall we begin?”

      “I think we’ve already started, actually.”

Lestrade took his spouse into his arms, letting his body demonstrate very clearly to the vampire how eager it was for their night to continue.  This was all they would have for who knew how long and he planned on making it count.  A lot.  Hopefully, Mycroft would be able to remain awake for awhile, because this was going to take a _long_ time…

__________

Mycroft lay in his newly-christened big bed and let his hands roam tenderly over his husband’s skin.  It was perfect, utterly perfect.  There was no skin in creation as perfect as that of his Gregory’s and how beautifully it responded to his touch.  They had spent long hours teasing every possible bit of pleasure out of each other’s bodies until even the granting of a kiss was an exhausting thing to do.  Then, wrapped together by loving arms, they had fallen into a deep and peaceful sleep that lasted well past sunset.  Come morning, when the sun again rose, he would take to this bed alone and weep for the emptiness, but he would not let it sap his strength for every bit was needed for the battle to come.  He would seek his rest, feed well each night and ensure that whatever his Gregory required, he would be able to provide 

      “Someone’s awake.  And how lucky for me that it’s my husband.”

Lestrade drew his vampire into a long kiss and, when it broke, lingered close to stare into Mycroft’s eyes.

      “I love you, you know.  No matter what happens, I love you and I am proud to be your husband.”

      “And I love you, Gregory.  More deeply than words can express.”

      “Think we have time for a little… continuation of last night?”

      “As much as I desire that very thing, it is already quite late for rising and I am certain Father would prefer to see us appear sooner rather than later.”

      “You’re probably right.  Would you… I know you have to feed and that can’t change, but… can you take a final taste of me before I go?  I’d like to think that, for tonight at least, I’m the last of that particular flavor you have on your tongue.”

      “I find that a fantastically agreeable suggestion.  In perfect honesty, I have never sampled blood as delicious as yours and all else pales to what you offer, so savoring your flavor for as long as possible is something for which I would never offer objection.  Roll slightly and I shall gladly fulfill your wish.”

Lestrade flipped onto his side and sighed as Mycroft pressed against his back, running hands over his chest and belly before sinking fangs into his neck and beginning to feed.  This, in so many ways, was the most intimate of their pleasures and Lestrade knew that if he had left tonight without experiencing it, his heart wouldn’t lift from the floor until this nightmare was over.  As it was, when his lover was done, he felt as if a dark, dank hole had opened in his soul and it would remain there until he was again lying in his husband’s arms, enjoying the sensation of this particular passion.

Though they knew they were pressed for time, dressing was a slow process, as each of the new pair found it unbearable to take their hands away from their spouse and when, finally, they presented themselves for breakfast, the couple kept physical contact through the meal and until the very moment the summoned constables arrived so that Lestrade could surrender himself into their custody.  And, of course, their arrival was not one they made alone.

      “Well, I am glad to see that young Mr. Lestrade came to his senses.  It is a pity to prolong this situation so that the suffering of all involved parties continues unnecessarily.”

Mycroft’s father stepped heavily on his son’s foot to prevent Magnussen’s evisceration and spoke to their uninvited guest in his most calm and placid tone.

      “I agree.  Of course, it is not really appropriate to continue to refer to Gregory as Mr. Lestrade.  After last night’s events, Lestrade-Holmes would be a more suitable surname.”

Mycroft’s aching foot would not have prevented Magnussen’s gutting, but the shocked look on the villain’s face was worth staying his hand so the blackguard could fully digest how awry his plan had gone.

      “You… you allowed your son to marry this… murderer?”

      “As the _murderer_ designation is somewhat in question, it seemed an appropriate thing to do.  Young love will not be denied, you know.”

Lestrade burned the sight of Magnussen’s growing confusion and anger into his mind to help keep him strong during his incarceration.  Maybe it was wrong to take pleasure at someone else’s discomfort, but right now, he really didn’t care.

      “I would not have thought you one to have your reason blurred by your son’s mating urges.”

      “Oh, now and then I give in to frivolity.  I find it keeps my bowels healthy.”

At his father-in-law’s nod, Lestrade gave his husband one final kiss, then moved forward to be taken by the constables who, knowing well Mycroft’s father and his devotion to family, took care not to so much as jostle Lestrade as they escorted him out of the room and towards the waiting coach.

      “You might want to follow along, Charles.  Without the watchful eye of the law, I cannot predict what my son might perpetrate and my property is more than sufficient to hide the pieces of a dozen bodies, let alone one, no matter how tall that body might be.”

With a glare that Mycroft had to admit was a full 60% Homes-worthy, Magnussen followed after the constables and the young vampire collected his Gregory’s jacket and selection of clothes and toiletries for his stay in the town’s small jail.

      “Inspect the conditions well, Mycroft, and let me know of anything that is unreasonable for the circumstance.  Two of our men will be remaining near Gregory’s cell at all times, so do not be concerned that he will be unprotected when you return home.”

      “I will be very thorough in my assessment, Father, worry not about that.  And when I return… we begin planning?”

      “Oh yes.  This is my primary concern until your Gregory is free and all in the household are pledged to this mission, as well.”

Mycroft nodded and wondered if everyone had parents such as his in their lives.  He had not truly appreciated how greatly they cared and now… now he was unspeakably grateful for their love.  Rushing after his husband, Mycroft vowed that his husband would feel, as did he, the ever-present love of family and that their marriage would be graced by the continuous joy of family and close friends.  Now, they just had to ensure that their future family meals were not taken in the town jail with the constables breaking bread along with them…


	15. Chapter 15

      “You _can_ leave, Mycroft.”

      “I know.  I simply do not wish to.”

      “Go home, love.  I’ll be fine.”

      “I have nothing at home that requires my immediate attention, so I feel my time is best served here, with you.”

      “And I know that’s bollocks, so go home and relax.  You’re leaving men here, right?”

      “Yes, although you seem confident the constables shall treat you properly.”

      “I am, actually.  Now that I’ve gotten a look at everyone, I realize that a couple of them put in some morning work in the fields and I see _all_ the lads at the tavern.  I’d say they’re a good lot but, I also thought that about the men who worked for us when I was young and I just know that one or more of them had something to do with the fire.  So, I’m happy you’re leaving a few extra eyes on me, but you should make it clear that you’re only doing it because you know the constables are busy and Magnussen is a complete bastard who can’t be trusted to leave well enough alone now that I’m here.  Let them know it’s not them you don’t trust, but him.  Don’t want to be on the bad side of the lawmen once we’re past this.”

      “Yes, that is a most prudent suggestion.”

      “Then go and act on it while you’re leaving.”

      “I am beginning to suspect you have grown tired of my company after a scant few hours of marriage.  Woe is me…”

      “Funny man.  If you want me to be honest, then I will.  I am positively exhausted and really need a bit of time to try and let my mind wrap around all of this.  Bit of a think, bit of a sleep… I love you with my whole heart, but as long as you’re here I’m not going to get either of those.  Make sense?”

Yes.  Unfortunately.

      “I both see and credit your point.  Very well.  But, I shall return tomorrow to verify your condition and replenish your amenities.”

      “I’m not going to use a whole cake of soap in one night, Mycroft.”

      “You will require fresh clothes, will you not?  And something to eat?”

      “They feed the prisoners, love.”

      “Gruel and stale bread?  I will not allow you to suffer that.”

      “Actually, the bread’s fresh from the baker and the wives earn a few coins making soup and porridge.  Except for Andrew, Constable Fielding’s husband who actually works for the blacksmith because they don’t have any kiddies to watch at home.”

      “Oh.  Well, it matters not.  I will ensure you are well-fed, well-clothed, warm and clean during your stay… however, I shall take pains not to offer insult to our constable’s spouses.”

Lestrade knew he wouldn’t win the argument and, as long as he actually argued, Mycroft would never leave.

      “That sounds good.  I’ll see you tomorrow, Mycroft.  Take care of yourself, do you hear me?”

      “I shall, Gregory, provided you promise the same to me.”

      “I promise.  Now, be off with you.”

Mycroft frowned and wavered in front of the cell, but Lestrade refused to soften his glare until his husband finally nodded and began the slow process of leaving, replete with numerous backwards glances and small, mournful waves.  If the situation wasn’t so serious, Lestrade would be laughing, but he was feeling every bit of the pain his Mycroft was suffering.  And he didn’t have a huge, soft bed to sleep in, with a hot bath waiting when he woke up…

__________

      “You are satisfied?”

      “No, because Gregory should not be imprisoned for _any_ reason, however, the accommodations are not entirely ghastly and he feels some sense of safety in his temporary residence.”

      “That is all we can truly expect, so let us take heart that we have less concern on that score.  Your mother will be especially happy to hear that… she is very worried for Gregory.  And for you.”

      “I am fine… I luxuriate in a comfortable home where all my needs are lavishly met and have no executioner’s axe hanging over my head.”

      “Don’t be disingenuous, son.  If you believe for a moment that your mother and I are not highly aware of what you are suffering, then I am not certain your mind hasn’t been permanently impaired by this experience.”

Mycroft snarled at his father, but there was no heat in the gesture.  He _was_ suffering.  The pain, worry and sense of desperation were nearly crippling.  But he had to set that aside if he was to focus his full attention and force of will towards rescuing his husband from this blasphemous lie.

      “Be that as it may, whatever I suffer, Gregory suffers the same and then another measure heaped upon it.  We must resolve this quickly, Father.”

      “I agree.  I take no pleasure in your husband’s predicament, Mycroft, and hope, as dearly as you, to see his name cleared and, if possible, those truly responsible for the crime brought to justice.”

And did his son light up like the moon from the reminder of his marital status?  Actually, the moon itself may never have gleamed so brightly…

      “Then we must act quickly and efficiently.  Have you any ideas?”

      “None that have not likely first to have occurred to you.  Dispatch men to question those employed by Gregory’s family and those who resided in the area at the time of the fire.  I can make inquiries among my business associates for any possible concrete information connecting Charles to this act.  Beyond that, I am not certain, at this point, what is possible.”

      “A truth spell!”

Sherlock’s imperial shriek actually startled Mycroft, but what did not surprise him was that Sherlock had been hiding behind a tapestry, spying on their conversation.

      “Sherlock!  I have told you countless times not to make yourself party to conversations that do not concern you.”

      “You cannot compel my behavior, besotted buffoon!  You are not Father!”

      “Very well, Sherlock, _I_ shall remind you that you should not make yourself party conversations that do not concern you.”

      “You cannot compel my behavior!  You are not Mummy!”

      “Oh dear lord… come out from behind the tapestry and pray that I do not next compel you to lay across my knee.”

Sherlock stepped out and scowled ferociously, scurrying to stand near and slightly behind Mycroft to glare at his father.

      “Child abuse does not suit you, Father.”

      “I could grow to enjoy it.  And, truth spells are notoriously unreliable.  I have had even Mrs. Hudson implement them and the results were questionable, at best.  I am happy that you want to help Gregory and use your own expertise for his benefit, however, that particular path is not one that will be fruitful to tread.”

      “Then I shall find another way!  While you and your fatter son blow hot air about the room, it will be me that brings us victory!”

Sherlock’s pose was very close to what Mycroft remembered from a painting he had seen of a king declaring himself the winner of a long-fought and savage battle.  If he remembered correctly, history documented that in the next moment the king lost his head, but pesky details weren’t always relevant to Sherlock’s dramatics.

      “And we shall not ignore any assistance you are gracious enough to provide.  Perhaps you might conference with Mrs. Hudson and seek her counsel on the issue.”

      “Do you think I have not?  Already I have directed her to ward the jail against any acts of magic against the transient and to impress upon the half-wits who rose to the top of the human dung heap in the village that Lestrade’s innocence is assured and he is the victim of a villainous blackguard who cares not for truth or human life.  And perpetrates cruel acts against infant animals.  That potential truth is certain to earn him a bounty of enemies ready to celebrate his doom.”

      “Slander is not polite, son.”

Though quite effective when properly implemented.

      “I have no idea of the depths of his cruelty!  It is only fair to warn the townspeople of the true nature of his black heart so they may guard their kittens as vigorously as their children!”

      “And I am most surprised that your bottom is not already stinging from your attempt to order about Mrs. Hudson.”

      “We are not to speak of my bottom any further.”

The family patriarch held back his laughter at Sherlock’s look of discomfort and wondered how long a lecture the boy had to endure, in addition to a good swat, before the witch went on her way.  But it was good to know that measures were already underway to ensure that when the matter was settled, his son-in-law would live amongst people who never looked at him with suspicion.

      “Very well.  Now, this has been a trying night and we would all benefit from some time to relax and gather our strength for the battle to come.  Your mother and I shall dine in our rooms this evening, but we shall see the both of you for breakfast tomorrow.  Mycroft… be of strong heart.  We _will_ lay this situation to rest and return your husband to you.”

Mycroft could only nod because his Father was right.  He was feeling the stress of the past two nights gripping his soul and if he did not simply have some time alone to relax he was not going to be of any use to his beloved, and that was not, at all, acceptable.  Steering Sherlock out of the study, Mycroft continued to move forward until he deposited the boy at his laboratory, though he nearly experienced heart failure when Sherlock darted back from his lab to give him a millisecond of a fierce hug before disappearing back inside and slamming shut the heavy door.

Making his way to his own suite, the vampire felt a surge of hot and sickening guilt when he, for an instant, contemplated a hot bath, then settled on the small sofa and swallowed down the next surge from the comfort he was receiving from the warm fire, the support of his family and the knowledge that he would see this again tomorrow and each day forward, while his spouse languished alone in a dank cell.  But, in truth, his beloved would be upset if he felt that his fate was being mirrored and, with great reluctance, Mycroft poured a strong drink to sip while he tried to relax.  He was terribly hungry, also, in truth, but he was having extreme difficulty with the thought of drinking donor blood.  It seemed a betrayal of the worst sort, though his husband was well aware of his need and recognized that it could not be ignored.  Father was correct, though… strength must be gathered and maintained.  Later… he would contemplate that later.  Right now, his port was sufficient…

__________

His port wasn’t sufficient.  Mycroft’s nerves, fears, frightening mental images and deep-seated sense of dread wouldn’t abate and the two goblets of donor blood he’d finally quaffed were as useless at remedying his distress as the fine port.  Deciding there was nothing else for it, the vampire opened a window and, drinking in a lungful of the warm night air, changed into bat form and took to the skies.  There was something freeing about flying… it could soothe a troubled mind when all else had failed.  Clear it, too, so you could focus more clearly on issues that demanded your full attention.  Evidence… they required evidence.  The opposition truly had none, but the circumstances were damning and, to a mind not strictly a devotee of the logical analysis of data, it was unequivocal.  So, their side required a portfolio of information that was robust and unimpeachable if it had any hope of turning the tide to their direction.

The little ginger bat flew lazily over the treetops for what seemed like an age and, finally, turned in the direction of the town and landed near a very familiar shop, which, as always, seemed open to accept customers.

      “Mycroft!  I wondered when you’d show yourself.  My eggs were fine, but the butter was a little off and that usually means you’re going to pay me a visit without that imp that poses as your brother.  Greg’s still fine, if you’re wondering.  We had a nice chat a bit ago when I brought him a little charm to keep the bedbugs and lice from bothering him.  The constables are nice lads and do their best to keep the jail tidy, but who they run in sometimes… it’s a wonder the whole building isn’t dripping with pests!”

The vampire groaned and earned a gentle ‘there, there’ from the witch, who motioned him to follow her so he could sit and have a nice cup of tea.

      “Don’t you worry, Mycroft.  Greg’s going to be fine and he’s got my best protections to make certain that’s the case.  Now, what are we going to do?  I talked to your mother and she tells me this Magnussen is a right bastard and has the means to make life difficult for people who get crossways of him.  Your dad could squash him like an ugly bug, of course, but he’s got to have reason to do the squashing.  So, how do we give him a reason?”

      “You have stated clearly my dilemma, I’m afraid.  As Gregory describes the situation, there is no specific evidence for his guilt, however, there is also as little for his innocence.  Barring a confession, I have no idea what can be done.  Of course, Sherlock is advocating a truth spell…”

      “He would!  Evil little thing forgets that those grey-area spells don’t always work the way you want them to, no matter how fun they might be to play with.”

      “As Father informed him.  However… _is_ there anything that you or Sherlock could do to… solidify our position?”

Mrs. Hudson pushed a plate of biscuits across the table and Mycroft immediately popped one into his mouth.  The flavor of something happily well-remembered was greatly welcome right now.

      “I’m working on that.  Have to stay away from black spells because if the law finds you’ve used them, it’s frowned upon, no matter what they uncover.  So, that limits our options a bit.  The best I can think of is something I doubt we can use, so that’s not much help.”

      “What is it?”

      “Well… there is a spell you can use to enchant a possession to reveal what happened while its owner used it.  If we had something that bastard owned and used around that time, like a shoe or pair of spectacles, we could use it to get information.  Maybe a bit of conversation or a name to talk to.  That’s all I have right now, but it was so long ago!  How many things would he keep around for seven years?  And when I think about what those seven years meant to Greg… poor baby had to live with that horrible pain for so long with no one to give him a friendly ear or a hug.  Breaks my heart to think of it…”

      “As it does mine.  And that his tender years as a child brought him their own heartache.  I cannot conceive of living each day wondering if I would do something to hurt the ones I loved.  Or worse.”

      “That’s what curses do, Mycroft.  They hurt and do it in hideous ways.  It’s why the accursed don’t want to tell anyone because… well, they don’t get a very warm reception when they do.”

      “Can you… Gregory said you felt confident the curse could be broken.”

      “Eventually, I think it can.  It’s a nasty one and old.  It was powerful when it was cast and the more generations it runs through the more powerful it gets.  I know a few things, tough, and have some people I can talk with to find out more.  There are a few books I want to find, too, that deal with old magic that could help.  And I’ve already starting laying in supplies… it’s not going to be easy, Mycroft, but I _do_ think it can be done.”

      “Whatever it takes… Father’s fastest horses, the entirety of my personal wealth… I pledge it all to you to assist your work.  Gregory shall not rest easy with this over his head, even with his name cleared of the besmirching.  He fears the damage he may wreak and I shall not allow him to bear that burden a minute longer than is necessary.”

      “Don’t worry, Mycroft, I promise that I’ll do everything I can.”

      “Thank you.  And, as for our current situation… you have only that single idea?”

      “For now.  But, I’m going to give that my best effort, too.  If you can find something Magnussen owned from seven years ago, then we can give it a try, but good luck with that.”

      “If it can be done, I shall see it done.  In fact… I shall meet with Gregory this very morning and discuss the issue.”

      “He’s sleeping, Mycroft.  You let him get his rest.”

      “I did not say I was leaving this instant…”

Though he was thinking that very thing.  Dastardly witch.

      “… for we have not had an opportunity to share pleasantries for some time and I believe my nose is correctly interpreting the aroma it is inhaling as fresh spice cakes soon to be ready for sampling.  Surely you do not expect me to leave and lose the opportunity to sample the finest baked goods for leagues in any direction?”

      “That silver tongue is going to get you in trouble one day, boy.  Though, I suspect it makes our Greg a very happy man, now doesn’t it.”

      “Please never speak to me again for any reason.  And yes.  It does.”

__________

      “Mycroft!  What are you doing here?”

A quick, yet subtle, inspection verified that his beloved was hale, hearty and not obviously provided with pestilence.

      “I wished to know you were well before I retired for the day.”

      “Does it hurt lying so hard?  Come here and let me kiss away the pain.”

      “Rogue.  But I shall agree to your request.”

Mycroft gave his husband a small peck through the bars and took a moment to gaze into his eyes.

      “ _Are_ you well, my beloved?”

      “I am.  Not a lot of sleep, but I can have a nap today.  Actually, I can have a lot of naps since there’s not much else to do except read.  Which, I have to admit, isn’t the worst way to spend a day.  Thanks for all of these books.  They’re going to be extremely helpful while I’m in here.”

      “Which, we hope, shall not be of prolonged duration.  Have you eaten?  Mrs. Hudson prepared some lovely spice cakes and bid me bring a few to you and your jailors seem happy to prepare tea…”

      “Had some good bread and cheese just a bit ago, but I have room for more.  Hate to have Mrs. Hudson’s hard work get stale.  Join me?”

      “I shall decline, if you do not mind.  I consumed a quantity already that will make the flight home quite a strenuous one as I cart the extra weight.”

      “Can’t blame you.  These are amazing!  Now, do you want to tell me why you’re really here?  And why you were visiting Mrs. Hudson in the wee hours of the morning?”

      “You are a suspicious man, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Not usually, but I’m learning to be.  So, let’s talk, shall we.”

      “Oh, very well… I had hoped to lead gently into our conversation, but we may get straight to it, if you wish.  Mrs. Hudson believes she has an initial plan for us to follow to, perhaps, gain some information of use to your cause.”

      “That’s fantastic!  What is it?”

      “Unfortunately, the likelihood is that it shall not be something of which we make use.  She knows of a spell by which we can gain information from an object, if it was present during an event.  If there was something still in Magnussen’s possession that he owned seven years ago, then, perhaps, we could gain from it some information about the fire.  However, the likelihood of that is…”

      “His spectacles or his ring.”

Mycroft stared at his husband and blinked a few times as he processed the rapidly-provided answer.

      “Gregory… are you certain?”

      “Oh yes.  I only saw him for an instant during our party, but he was wearing the same ring that I remembered and… well, maybe I’m not as sure about the spectacles, but they look identical to the ones he used to wear.  Maybe he has several pairs, though.  Or, I’m thinking like a poor person because I know those are expensive and people care for them like their dear old mothers.  He could have replaced his a dozen times over since then.”

      “No, even those with considerable wealth covet a quality pair of spectacles.  To find a pair that functions well for your particular quality of eyesight is not easy.  Father has several associates who complain about the situation on a regular basis.  This is good news, Gregory.  This is very good news.  If we can lay hands on either of these items, then we may learn something useful.”

      “Except you’re not going to get them away from him.  He never takes the ring off that I remember and his spectacles would be either on his face, in his pocket or on a nightstand.  I don’t think there are any thieves in the area so good that they could nick them off him and he wouldn’t catch them.”

      “That part you will leave to me.  But take heart that we are putting all our forces to bear on this issue.”

      “You mean you, your parents, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson?”

      “That is a mighty army, Gregory Lestrade, and you would do well not to forget it, lest we horsewhip you for naysaying attitude.”

After the childish giggling died down, Mycroft reached through the bars to caress his husband’s face and sighed softly when Lestrade reached out to run fingers up and down his arm.

      “I already miss you, Mycroft.”

      “A pain I also suffer, my husband.”

      “You should go home and get some rest.  Can’t have you at the battle-planning table yawning and having your dad give you a talking to.”

      “The sharpness of that sting would truly be bitter.”

      “Speaking of sting…”

Lestrade continued to run his fingers along his husband’s arm and shoulder, then continued upwards so he could brush his wrist across the vampire’s perfectly-sculpted lips, humming with pleasure when Mycroft sank his fangs into the flesh and enjoyed the most precious gift Lestrade could ever offer him.  Releasing his husband’s arm after a long and fulfilling drink was an enormously difficult thing for the vampire to do, since he wanted nothing more than to prolong their intimacy until the sun shone high overhead, but his Gregory would worry about the lateness and he had enough worry without another portion being added.

      “You are my heart, Gregory.  I love you with a depth I would have never believed possible.

      “And I love you, as hard and as deep as I’m able.  Now, time for you to get going… it’s late and you need your sleep.  I’ll see you soon, though, right?”

      “I shall return the first moment I am able.  Be safe, my love.”

      “You, too.”

Mycroft gave Lestrade one final kiss, then left the jail, smiling shyly at the knowing grins he was being given by the constables.  If one of their spouses were here, they would be sneaking what affection they could, too.  Though, none of their spouses could possibly be as scintillating as his Gregory.  It was simply not possible.  That was a fact of nature…

__________

      “Interesting.”

Mycroft had slept like a corpse after arriving home from the jail and when he woke, immediately sent word to his father that he had important information to share.  Luckily, his father thought so, too.

      “Isn’t it?  Ultimately, it may not bear fruit, but it is a place to start.”

      “The question, Mycroft, would be how to secure Charles’s ring.  And I do think that is the most likely candidate.  I admit that I have seen him wear it for at least seven years, so it must play host to many of his secrets, including this one.”

      “I shall steal it!”

This time, at least, Sherlock wasn’t behind the tapestry.  However, extracting him from the small cabinet near the fireplace proved to be easier said than done.

      “Good heavens, Sherlock.  Did you believe for one unholy moment that you were some form of liquid and poured yourself into the space?”

      “I… do not mock my methods, Bloatcroft!  I cleverly and successfully concealed my presence so you should be showering me with praise for my cunning!”

      “Mycroft, kindly remove Sherlock’s foot from the urn into which it seems to be lodged and escort him…”

      “You shall not remove me from any strategy session!  I demand to be included in all stages of any form of planning for both of you are stuffy and have painfully-limited levels of creativity.  Without my input, there is no hope for success!”

Mycroft watched his father fail to conceal his amusement at Sherlock’s usual tendency towards theatrics and graciously motioned over the boy to take a seat and join the discussion.

      “And you may as well join us, my dear.  The secret passage is quite drafty and you simply must be dying for a lovely glass of wine and a warm fire.”

Mycroft and Sherlock’s eyes flew towards the bookcase, which clicked open and exposed their mother, who showed no shame at being caught out.

      “It’s about time you realized I was there.  What an evil man you are, trying to distract me with my gardening, even if it was so I didn’t worry myself with Gregory’s troubles.”

      “You did not like the flowers I purchased for you?”

Sherlock pressed his hands over his eyes and made noises similar to those produced by someone dying of dysentery as his mother crossed the room and gave his father an impassioned kiss.

      “I adored them and already know where they shall be planted.  But I do not want to be shielded from this, my love.  Gregory is our son, now, and I take his welfare extremely seriously.”

      “Your protective instincts only add to your splendor, my darling wife.”

Another warm and lingering kiss that nearly sapped the remainder of Sherlock’s life force followed and it was only Mycroft’s pointed clearing of his throat that broke their embrace.

      “Ah, yes.  We have business to conduct.  I assume you heard Mycroft’s news?”

      “I did and it is a very promising beginning, I admit.”

      “And I shall steal it!”

      “Sherlock, no son of mine shall stoop to thievery… unless there is absolutely no chance of him being caught and we cannot be assured of that.”

      “But, Mummy… I _can_ do it.  Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?”

How quickly her son could turn from an arrogant potentate to a wheedling toddler was simply mindboggling.

      “Your mother is right, Sherlock.  Anything we do now that compromises Gregory’s situation shall surely spell his downfall and Charles will certainly become suspicious when he finds that one of his most notable possessions has gone missing.”

      “Could we…”

Mycroft had to admit that, to some extent, his brother was right accusing him of lacking mental creativity.  It was not a strength to which he had ever laid claim, but for his Gregory, he would dredge up every last ounce and apply it to this problem.

      “Yes, Mycroft?”

      “Father, do you remember the appearance of Magnussen’s ring?”

      “Hmmm… to some degree, yes.”

      “Enough to have a copy fashioned?”

      “Oh, I see where you are going, Mycroft, and that is a very good idea.  But unfortunately, I must say no.  I cannot promise I could remember it sufficiently well for a duplicate to be made.  Might Gregory, perhaps?”

      “He may believe so, but I admit I would not trust it.  It has been so long and he was but a boy when last he saw it for any extended period.”

      “A seeing crystal!”

All eyes turned towards Sherlock, who was quivering with excitement.

      “Explain, please, brother dear.”

      “With a seeing crystal, I could see the ring now upon the beast’s finger and Flabcroft could sketch it with his pencils.  It will be a nice change of pace from his sketching Lestrade’s disgustingly-naked body, the proof of which lies hidden in the chest in his bedroom near my disempowered influence figure which he paws at night in a vulgar display of lust.”

Mycroft refrained from pounding his brother to a greasy smear on the floor because the idea actually had merit.  He was not an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but he _could_ accurately render objects that he had occasion to observe.  Though he would not dignify his parent’s shameful smirks with the least bit acknowledgement.  As if his own youth had not been irretrievably compromised when he came across a piece of erotic poetry dedicated to Mummy hidden in his father’s desk.  And written in Father’s own hand.

      “And, do you have such a crystal?”

      “No, but Mrs. Hudson does.”

Four vampires nodded their heads and dashed towards the nearest window, taking flight and speeding towards the witch’s shop, with Mycroft lagging slightly to stay near Sherlock who was struggling to keep pace with the speed of the journey.  When they reached the shop, Sherlock was panting and out of breath, but Mycroft dragged him along to catch up with their parents who were already inside the building talking to their old friend.

      “Ooohhh… that’s a very good idea.  Let me get it.”

Mrs. Hudson disappeared upstairs and came down a moment later with a perfect sphere of clear, flawless crystal and Mycroft found himself staring into the depths which, when you looked at it long enough, weren’t so clear anymore.

      “Sort of hypnotizes you, doesn’t it?  That’s why I don’t use it often.  You can find yourself drawn right in and needing someone to pull you back out, so if Sherlock ever gets his hands on one, don’t ever let him use it alone.  Now, I’ve got a sheet of paper or two in that drawer and a nub of a pencil, too.  Where’s the arsehole staying, anyway?”

      “Martha, language!  There are tender ears present.”

      “No time for your stuffiness, you old thing.  Besides, you know I’m right and have probably wanted to call him that for years.”

Mycroft absolutely adored when Mrs. Hudson and his father interacted…

      “At the inn, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “Thank you, Mycroft.  You’re a good boy.  Now, just give me a minute…”

Sherlock positioned himself so he didn’t miss a thing and in a moment an image appeared in the crystal that made the vampire’s gasp.

      “The ring!  Mycroft, begin your scribbling and take not a single artistic liberty with the rendering!”

      “Shut it, you horrid thing.  Mycroft, just be ready because I won’t be able to do this next bit for long…”

Mycroft looked curiously at the witch, who closed her eyes and with a few murmured words, astonished her audience by lifting the image out of the crystal and laying the life-sized hand of Magnussen on the paper.

      “T…this should let you get the size right.  But hurry, because I can’t hold this more than a minute or two.”

Mycroft began sketching frantically, but showed the greatest care and attention to detail that he could.  The witch was correct, if he’d gotten the proportions wrong, Magnussen would know immediately that something was amiss.

      “Done!”

As soon as Mycroft gave the word, the image vanished from the paper and returned to the crystal.

      “Sherlock… go and open that, no you’re too short… Mycroft, go and open that red box on the top shelf of that cabinet near the rear door and bring me one of the crystals.”

Mycroft immediately obeyed and found himself extracting a small version of the larger crystal in which the image of Magnussen’s hand still resided.

      “Is this another seeing crystal?”

      “No, but it can temporarily trap an image, though not life-sized.  Now hold it still a moment and…”

All four vampires gasped as the small sphere turned a deep blue color as it captured the image of the jewel in Magnussen’s ring.

      “There.  Now you can match the color of the stone.  You’d best be quick, though, because that will only last a week, at most.”

      “That should be enough.  My darling wife’s dragon horde… I mean… jewel collection should offer something appropriate and I know a man a few days ride from here who specializes in the cutting of gemstones.  He can match the cut if we do not already have that particular example on hand.”

      “Then, I’d say you’ve got the start of a plan.  All you’ll have to do is make a swap and I can enchant the original.  I’ll get that spell ready so when you bring me the ring, we can start immediately.”

Mycroft accepted his mother’s encouraging hug and pushed down the emotion that rose from this very tiny victory.  They were doing something and that was absolutely vital.  Perhaps this would lead nowhere, but it was a true start and from where one idea had risen, another would come if this did not lead them on a productive path.  This was good.  It was a sign, really.  An omen.  He was certain of it.  And, this morning, sleep would come much easier because of it…


	16. Chapter 16

They had a stone.  Several, in fact.  The right color, but not the right cut.  So… that would be several days of work.  They had gold.  Quite an abundance of it, actually.  But it must be crafted skillfully into the right setting, so the original ring finally could be swapped and the spell cast.  Then and only then would they know if all of this work would bear fruit.  And if it didn’t…

      “Mycroft?  Are you dead?  If so, you should be decent and place yourself in a position more convenient for the staff to hurl your body into the woods to feed the ridiculous werepuppies that bay at the moon.”

      “Ah, Sherlock.  Is it time for you music lesson?”

      “I have concluded my lesson and, in addition, prepared a new tincture for cook’s bunions.”

      “Oh.  Time has passed me by, it seems.”

Sherlock hopped onto the sofa next to his brother and vacillated between a scowl of contempt and one of concern, with the latter winning by a margin that warmed Mycroft’s heart.

      “Brooding will not help Lestrade.”

      “I was not brooding, brother dear.  I was merely contemplating our course of action and where it might take us.”

      “And what did that contemplation produce?”

      “Nothing.  Nothing at all.  We are at a point of standstill and I cannot pierce the veil of the future no matter how hard I batter at its cloth.”

      “You are pessimistic about our efforts?”

      “Not as such.  I simply have no information on which to build an argument, be it pessimistic or optimistic and… that displeases me greatly.”

      “How long until the gem cutter arrives?”

      “Most likely the day after tomorrow.  It could be another day, however, if the rains I smell in the air choose to manifest and make travel a difficult thing.”

      “And the rest?”

      “Father has sent for the goldsmith that crafted several of Mummy’s favorite pieces.  He should arrive tomorrow and begin his work.  However, we must still craft a plan to obtain the original ring and I am bereft of ideas as this point.”

      “I shall steal it!”

      “Mummy has already prohibited that particular plan.”

      “What Mummy does not know, Mummy cannot prohibit when it is enacted.”

      “Sherlock Holmes!  You would defy Mummy in this?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and a crafty smile moved across his lips.

      “You were planning on doing it yourself, weren’t you?”

      “Ridiculous.”

      “You were.  Admit it.”

      “I shall not.”

      “Fine.  Do not admit it.  We both know it is the truth, so the action is moot, in any case.  However, given that you are the size of an ox and move with the grace of one that has contracted gout, you are completely unsuitable for the task.  I, with my svelte frame and limitless grace and dexterity, am a far more suitable candidate to do the deed.”

      “And, with your, also, limitless distractibility, you would give yourself away while you rummaged through his luggage and inspected his shins for enchanted runes.”

      “Untrue!  Given a task of consequence my degree of focus is unparalleled and I will prevail spectacularly!”

Mycroft continued to be amazed at how greatly Sherlock wanted to participate in securing Lestrade’s freedom.  It was so very rare that his brother showed visible concern and regard for another, but, if anyone could draw this level of commitment from Sherlock, it _would_ be his husband.

      “Let us agree that I will not completely disregard your plan, however, we will continue to seek another solution that does not carry with it the threat of either of us biding time in a jail cell with Gregory.”

      “It is a feeble compromise, but I will acquiesce to your terms.”

      “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”

      “Now, we shall visit Lestrade.”

That was unexpected.

      “Pardon?”

      “You cannot assess the status of the wards Mrs. Hudson laid upon the jail, nor are you qualified to… well, anything.  You have no qualifications beyond those occurring between your fork and your face.  I must evaluate Lestrade’s environment and conditions and prepare a list of items that must be rectified.  We will leave now.”

      “Sherlock, it is getting rather late…”

      “Balderdash!”

      “Au contraire.  The sun has been down fully three hours now and…”

      “Which, by the previous schedule set by your and Lestrade’s disgusting couplings, means he should still be awake and prepared to receive visitors.  Come, we will leave _now_.”

Sherlock jumped off the sofa and glared at his brother until Mycroft sighed, stood and motioned his brother towards the window.  Apparently the young vampire needed some additional reassurance and, just maybe, missed his brother-in-law enough to need a visit to still the ache in his heart.  That, at least, Mycroft understood perfectly.

      “Very well.  However, if Gregory is asleep, we shall do no more than peer through the window of his cell.”

      “That will be sufficient.  Although it is entirely possible for me to fit between the bars for I, unlike you, am not the size of a hypertrophied beet.”

      “You shall not disturb Gregory if he is resting.”

      “All the prisoner does is rest, so if I desire that he entertain me, entertain me he shall.”

So… Sherlock was _very_ much missing his brother-in-law and the interactions they shared.  Mycroft smiled at his brother and opened the shutters, watching the small boy turn into an even smaller bat and set aloft into the sky.  Hopefully his husband would be awake and in the mood for Sherlock’s acerbity.  If the former were true, but not the latter, Mycroft knew a nice little shop that his brother positively adored to browse… and Mrs. Hudson was never averse to presenting him an astronomical bill for the results.

__________

      “Sherlock!  Come to sneak me away under your coat?”

      “Dullard.  Your inflated sense of self-worth makes you far too sizeable for me to spirit away and I am not wearing a coat.  Twice you are proven an idiot.”

      “I think that’s a record for me.”

      “One that shall surely not stand long, as your idiocy is growing as quickly as Mycroft’s waistline.”

      “Well, when they meet, won’t that be a nice time for Mycroft and me.”

      “Ugh.  Do not spoil my evening with the flavor of vomit.”

Fortunately, Lestrade _had_ been awake, the constables had not opposed their visit and Sherlock’s behavior actually boosted the prisoner’s mood, although he wouldn’t let the boy know that particular fact, because Sherlock would latch onto it like a dog with a stick and truly run wild.

      “I’ll do my best.  So, how are you, Sherlock?  Conjured up any evil spirits or anything.”

      “No.  The blackguards refuse to come when I call.  They are, also, often quite rude about their refusal.”

      “That’s part of the evil thing, I suspect.  Love, how are you?”

Lestrade took a quick kiss from his husband and loved that Mycroft took the opportunity to fill his nostrils with every bit of his spouse’s scent.

      “I am well.  As we are somewhat in a position of waiting, Father has me tending to some business correspondence and that is restful, if nothing else.  And you, my dear.  Do you fare well?”

      “As good as ever, I suppose.  It gets a little lonely during the day, but I’ve got my books, so I have something to do, at least.”

      “Are you not allowed to… well, I do not know why I suppose you would have been released to take at least a small walk, but I presume that is rather silly of me to think so.”

      “Just a little.  It’s not the constable’s job to make sure the prisoners are happy, Mycroft, just safe and fed.”

      “True, but you are guilty of nothing, so they should make some accommodation for…”

      “They don’t know I’m innocent, you need to remember that.  They know you and your dad say I’m innocent, but there’s been no trial and no proof offered to the contrary.”

      “I shall obtain the proof!  Magnussen will roast on a spit due to my cunning and wiles!”

Lestrade shared a look with Mycroft and thought, not at all for the first time, how lucky he was to find people again who cared about him.  It wasn’t guaranteed to happen once in this life, and he’d had it twice.  Hopefully, that hadn’t exhausted his lifetime’s supply of luck, because, right now, he could use all that he could get…

      “I appreciate that, Sherlock.  I’m sure, with you on the job, thing are going to go my way.”

      “Of course.  There really is no doubt.  Of course, if the obese mare that masquerades as my brother would simply grow a spine and allow me to steal the ring when your duplicate is prepared, this matter would be concluded in a far swifter manner than shall likely occur otherwise.”

      “Mycroft’s right to say no, Sherlock.  You getting caught and being arrested is the least of your problems.  I wouldn’t put it past Magnussen to have one of his men do whatever he needs to do to make sure nobody ever finds you again.  At least not alive.”

      “Pfft… my magic, in addition to my natural skill in self-defense could not be overcome by a mindless thug.”

      “That being said, Sherlock has graciously agreed to postpone enacting his plan until such time as we have come to the conclusion that it is the final resort.”

      “I think that’s very sensible.  Good job, Sherlock.”

      “I think it is utterly ridiculous, but Mycroft would gladly report my actions to Father and he has been known to perpetrate dire acts upon me when he, wrongly, believes the situation warrants such.”

      “Gives you a good paddling?”

      “Confiscates my research equipment.  My bottom could easily withstand his wrath, but my supplies would not fare so well.”

Mycroft threaded his fingers through Lestrade’s and squeezed his husband’s hand tightly.  When his beloved was free, when they were in their own home… these conversations with his brother would be frequent and cherished.  The work on their new home had not been halted, so no time would be lost setting up their houhehold, where they could begin to fully celebrate the long life that they would share together.

      “Ooh… yeah, that’s something to watch out for.  Alright then, tell me what mischief you have been up to in that lab of yours.  Drag over a stool and give me all the stories.”

Sherlock looked at the few scattered stools kept for visitors and shuddered, but retrieved one and, after making a grand show of brushing off the almost non-existent dirt, sat and began to regale Lestrade with a full description of his experiments, his musical accomplishments, his successes in avoiding any of the tedious tasks either of his parents attempted to lay upon him and a hundred other topics to which Lestrade patiently listened, all the while holding Mycroft’s hand and stroking the vampire’s cool skin with this thumb.  It was only after they’d been ‘checked on’ the fourth time that Lestrade decided to send his family home.

      “Well, this has been fun, but the lad who watches the jail overnight wants to get to sleep and I can’t say I blame him.”

Which wasn’t the right thing to say with a highly over-protective husband in earshot.

      “What!  The constable should be maintaining a focused and alert vigil throughout the night!”

      “No, he should be getting a little sleep since what’s going to happen in here?  I can’t get out and, if I tried or someone tried to get in, he’d hear it quickly enough.  And, once the tavern shuts for the night, there’s not going to be any trouble that someone would need to be run in for.  Believe me, Mycroft, the nights are nice and quiet and we all get a good bit of sleep.  The lads take turns staying the night so everyone has a night away from home, but they’re rested and ready to work the next day.”

      “Gregory…”

      “How many of your own men do you have out there keeping an eye on things?  And Mrs. Hudson did a bit of work on the jail, too, didn’t she, so nothing magical can get at me?  I’m not in danger, Mycroft, but I’m happy that you’re worried about me while I’m here.”

      “Worried is a shallow descriptor for what I feel, my love, but I will bow to your assessment of the situation and not ask Father to replace the constabulary with more dedicated individuals.”

Lestrade chuckled softly and drew Mycroft over for a kiss, ignoring Sherlock’s snort of disgust.

      “Thank you.  Now, I’m sure you’ve got things to do tonight, so go and make your dad proud.  I’ll be here when you’ve got a chance to visit again.”

      “Which will be tomorrow.”

      “You don’t have to visit every night, Mycroft.  Not much changes here, so if you skip a night, I promise that you won’t miss any fun and games.”

      “If a more important matter than you arose, I would, of course, attend to it with my fullest attention and all the time it required, however, since that scenario defines the concept of ‘impossible,’ I would not hold out hope that you will not visit with me tomorrow.”

      “Look at you all smug thinking up that clever compliment.”

Mycroft’s smug face intensified and he drank Lestrade’s laughter like the finest wine.

      “Only to foster your amusement, my dear.”

      “Mycroft is always smug.  His behavior is disgustingly arrogant at the best of times, which this is surely not.”

      “And good for you, trying to knock that out of him every chance you get.”

      “You believe yourself to be jesting, but, the truth of your words wins out, nonetheless.”

      “And I do believe that is our final signal to depart.  Farewell, my husband.  I shall see you again soon.”

Mycroft kissed Lestrade and wished Sherlock had any degree of tact so that he might take himself out of sight for a moment for their passion to move even a tiny step forward to help salve the physical ache he carried in his bones to match the ever present one in his heart.

      “I love you, Mycroft.”

      “And I love you.  More and more each day.”

Knowing Sherlock would erupt in a volcanic tantrum if he took a moment to grant the wish in his husband’s eyes and feed from the wrist he was now nuzzling, Mycroft simply placed one final kiss on the skin and made his husband a silent promise that both their wishes would be satisfied the moment he returned the following evening.  With a regretful sigh, Mycroft turned away and escorted Sherlock out of the jail after thanking the constable for allowing them the visiting time.  Outside, a brief argument ensued, which, given Mycroft’s mournful mood, he successfully convinced Sherlock to postpone his desired visit to Mrs. Hudson’s shop to another night and the brothers flew off, instead, in the direction of home.  Right now, Mycroft desperately wanted a little quiet time to think and reflect upon the man he loved.  Who he _would_ visit tomorrow… it was his duty and it was also his desire and, despite his words, it was something his Gregory understood perfectly…

__________

Thanking his stars that Sherlock did not choose that particular evening to provide some unasked for and unannounced wakening, Mycroft spent a few moments looking across his bed at the small doll that didn’t mind spending a day out of its chest and on the pillow of the namesake whose head should be gracing it instead.  His Gregory slept magnificently.  When he moved it was slow and sinuous in a perfectly and unintentionally erotic display of male beauty.  Soft and melodic sounds were uttered now and then in gentle accompaniment to the majesty of his motions.  Which all sounded as ridiculous as one of the nauseating love ballads he’d heard performed, but since his husband was the focus, the insipid descriptions were certainly justified.

Packing away his surrogate spouse, the young vampire quickly dressed and sought out breakfast before finding something to occupy himself.  What he found was a number of business contracts that his father was hoping to renegotiate and it was several hours of discussions later before he even realized that the time had grown late, from a human perspective, and his Gregory would be preparing to retire.  Before he could even begin the internal debate as to whether to visit or not, the study door burst open, with Sherlock running in followed closely by one of the constables that Mycroft recognized.

      “Lestrade has been brutalized!”

Mycroft was out of his seat and throwing aside his brother and the constable before his father could stop him, smashing through a set of shutters as he raced towards the town to lay waste to whoever dared to lay a hand upon his husband.  The two bats that followed him, one tiny and one larger, had a difficult time keeping pace, though the larger one caught up just as Mycroft landed and splintered the jail door to reach his husband.

Who was lying on his bed with one of the constables checking his wounds, something which enraged Mycroft even further and it was fortunate that his father was there to pin his arms behind his back and keep him from attacking the man who was laying hands on his son’s injured spouse.  Though… if Sherlock had not joined in and wrapped himself around both of Mycroft’s legs, the poor constable might have learned what it meant to be butchered while alive.

      “Calm down, son.”

      “LET ME GO!”

      “He is attempting to help, not hurt, your husband.”

Mycroft tried again to tear himself away from his captors, baring his fangs and making sounds that had the constable trembling and huddling against the wall.

      “Settle yourself!”

      “NEVER!”

Cocking his head, Mycroft’s father urged the terrified constable to flee the cell area and the man wasted no time complying.  As soon as the constable was clear, Sherlock also received a nod and let go of his brother the second their father released his arms, letting Mycroft race to Lestrade’s side.

      “Gregory… my love… what has happened?”

Lestrade turned his head slowly and tried to focus his eyes on his spouse.  Well, one eye, as the other was painfully swollen shut.

      “Was that you I heard making all that noise?”

      “Certainly not.  Now, tell me… what… oh, my love…”

Mycroft found a wet cloth pressed into his hands used it to soothe the bruises that decorated his husband’s face while Sherlock and his father carefully, without touching, examined the rest of Lestrade’s body.

      “It was nothing, Mycroft.”

      “NOTHING!  You are delusional.  We are taking you home immediately.”

Mycroft made to scoop his husband into his arms and stopped quickly because of the painful groan that broke through Lestrade’s lips.

      “Yeah, that doesn’t feel good.  I’ll be fine with a little rest.”

      “This is… unacceptable.  I shall get a cart and take you…”

      “Son, let Gregory tell us what transpired before we make any decisions.”

Mycroft’s snarl was a dangerous one and Sherlock quickly jumped out of the cell to escape any collateral damage from his brother’s wrath.

      “Gregory _is_ coming home.”

      “No, Mycroft… I’m not.  Come here, love.  Sit by me?”

As if his husband’s voice had magical properties, Mycroft found himself obeying without question and taking Lestrade’s hand to hold.

      “It was an accident, Mycroft.  Or… well, accident isn’t the right word.  Unintentional, maybe?  No, that’s no good.  I’m not thinking well right now… look, there was a brawl at the pub and they brought in the drunkest and the ones most spoiling for a fight.  There’s only a few cells and there were a lot of drunks, so we all had to share.  You ever seen a brawl?  They don’t always end when they end.  The taunts start up again, the insults begin to fly and before they got everyone locked up, the punches started and with the cells unlocked… everyone was at it!  One of the lot took offence at me for whatever reason the ale said made sense and… well, he doesn’t feel very good now, either, so well done me.”

Sherlock took a look around and had to admit the few men remaining in the cells looked nearly as bad as his brother-in-law.

      “And where is the villain?  I will send him to his grave regretting that he laid a finger upon you.”

      “Uh… at home, I think?  After the constables pulled in some extra help, they sent runners out to bring wives and family members to drag the arses back home because they did _not_ want another fight to erupt.  At least, not while they were responsible for cleaning it up.  Those that could walk away got sent home and the few that passed out when they had a free moment are sleeping it off.  I’m sorry they sent for you, love.  There’s… hey!  Your dad’s here!  And is that Sherlock?  Got a poultice for me, lad?  My head could do with it right about now.”

Mycroft’s father jumped out of the cell and closed the door behind him, just in time to stop Mycroft from running out to murder the constables who’d allowed his husband’s assailant to go free, as well as the actual man who struck the blows.  As it was, he would have to pay to have the cell door reinforced as his son shook it nearly free from the stone in which the bars were embedded.  And the jail door, of course.  Plus, whatever else Mycroft saw fit to destroy as he worked off his rage.

      “Love?  Please, that’s very loud…”

In an instant Mycroft was back at Lestrade’s side, apologizing quietly and stroking his bruised cheek.

      “Son… I know you do not wish to hear this, but it is the role of the constabulary to maintain order, as well as to uphold the law.  They dispersed an unruly crowd and sent everyone to tend to their own wounds.  It is not the solution you would like, but it was not an unwise one from their point of view.”

      “I will kill them _all_.”

      “No, you will not.  I assure, also, that if you need to be confined to my own cells, then that is what will happen until your temper cools.  And, my cells _are_ designed to hold a vampire, so you will not be able to ravage it as you have this one.”

Mycroft set off again doing damage to the small cell and it was only when Lestrade curled under his blanket with his head fully covered that he stopped, after one last series of punches that took out each of the bars of the window one by one.

      “Are you done?  I really could use a little less ruckus, since I had my fair share earlier and that was enough for me for quite some time.”

Mycroft’s shoulders sagged and he, again, sat on the bed, gently pulling back the blanket and peering into his husband’s bottomless brown eyes.

      “I apologize, Gregory.  But you are so hurt…”

      “Nah, just a few bumps and bruises.  Bit of soreness in the body.  I’ve suffered worse, love, and had to heal up shivering in a stable or by some riverbank.”

Mycroft’s father added a new bed to the damage total as Mycroft’s grip made the wood frame crack in a very tragic manner.

      “Has a witch or healer tended to you?”

      “Um… maybe.  Someone was in here at some point, but I was a bit foggy for awhile, so it could have been the undertaker they brought in to take my measurements.  NO!”

Lestrade endured the massive head pain and sharp stabs of hurt to his body as he sat up to grab Mycroft before he started another round of demolition.

      “It was a joke!  Just a joke, really.  Please, love… calm yourself.  I’m ok.  Nobody did anything wrong.  It was just something stupid that I got pulled into accidentally.”

Something that Mycroft’s father was verifying, now that his own men had dared brave _his_ temper to make their report.  At least they had their own share of bruises and cuts to prove they hadn’t been idle in the altercation.  Apparently, the situation was exactly as his son-in-law had described and nothing further had been amiss.  If the scuffle within the cell area had not been so thick, they could have more effectively protected him, but, as it was, their actions were confined to helping control the melee with the constables and hoping their charge could handle himself until they could reach him.

      “I am not happy about this Gregory.  Not happy at all.  Sherlock!  Fetch Mrs. Hudson!”

Normally, Sherlock would have scoffed at his brother’s command but, this time, darted off to find the witch and bring her to the jail.  He would never admit it, but he had been shaken by the whole business.  Lestrade was… not right.  He should not be battered, nor should his smile be so weak and pathetic.  Though the flight here had tired him, Sherlock flew the distance to Mrs. Hudson’s shop so as to not waste a single moment and was happy she immediately dropped what she was doing to follow him to the jail.

Peeking into the building to ensure his brother wasn’t indulging another round of fury, Sherlock nodded to the witch and led her inside, noting that the constables suddenly seemed a great deal more relaxed now that she was there.

      “Oh, look at you.  Got caught in a bit of a dust up, I hear.”

      “DO NOT MOCK GREGORY’S PAIN!”

      “Well, Sherlock was right about one thing… you’re useless right now, Mycroft, so go take a walk with Sherlock.  In fact, why don’t you go back to my shop and here…”

Mycroft yelped as the witch grabbed his arm, shoved up his sleeve and after a second or two, writing appeared on his forearm.

      “That’s a list of the things I might need to fix up this one here.  Some of that I don’t want Sherlock  getting his fingers in or that’ll be the last of it I see, grabby little bugger, so I’m counting on you to get that back here to me so I can do some mending of your husband.  Go on now, don’t make me or _him_ have to wait.”

Mycroft felt his rage rising, but he also found himself walking out of the cell, grabbing his brother as he passed, to follow along.  Arguing would only prolong his Gregory’s suffering and that was the one thing he could not allow, no matter the overpowering urge he felt to stay at his mate’s side.

When the two siblings were gone, Mycroft’s father let out a massive breath and took his own turn sitting on Lestrade’s bed to provide reassurance to both himself and his son-in-law that this terrible experience was over.

      “How are you, Gregory.  And the full truth, please, since Mycroft is not here to destroy the town because of what he hears.”

Good.  His new son was laughing, though it was clear that it pained him terribly.

      “I hurt like blazes and it’s a bit hard to concentrate, but, like I said, I’ve had worse.  Nothing’s broken and the knock to my head will likely be righted by morning.  Every good tavern sees the lads getting rough with each other now and again… it was just chance that they had more energy to work off by the time they were brought here.”

The soft _hmmmm_ from Mrs. Hudson drew the older Holmes’s eye, but she waved him off and made her own inspection of Lestrade’s injuries, then left to take a small walk and chat with the constables.

      “I just wish Mycroft wouldn’t worry so much.  I _can_ take care of myself.  Done it for years.”

      “Unfortunately, you shall have to live eternally with my son’s protectiveness, just as his mother has to live with mine and I with hers.  It is part of who we are, though the demonstration of it shall moderate somewhat with time.  But, for next century or so, expect his temper to be quick and ferocious for any who he feels might constitute a threat to you.”

Lestrade laughed again and wondered if he’d ever get used to the idea of how long Mycroft would live.  And how long _he_ could live if… no, this was _not_ the time to think about that.  It wasn’t something he liked to dwell on and was happily going to put off any serious consideration of it until he was out of this mess.  If he was convicted, it would all be meaningless anyway.  If not… well, he had no idea which was the better choice, since he didn’t want a 50% chance of death and he didn’t want to live as a slave.  Even if it wasn’t really being a slave, there was something about that whole thrall business that struck him wrong.  But, he had time.  Time to talk to others who’d made their choices and learn more about them.  If he got out from under this mess.   _If_ …

      “Well, then, I’ll try not to have too many headaches in case he goes off again.  You wouldn’t think he could be so loud, what with being so calm and dignified, but he really is when he wants to be.”

      “Simply the herculean roar of his adoration.”

      “Listen to you with all those fancy words.  He really is your son, isn’t he?”

      “For his sins, this he must suffer, yes.”

      “Poor lamb.  You think you’ll be able to take him home with you tonight so he doesn’t sit here poking me every time I fall asleep to check if I’ve died?”

      “In all honesty, no.  Mycroft is terribly unsettled, afraid for you, boiling internally from the surge of protective fury… assume you shall have company until you are able to use his nature against him.  Mycroft can withstand the sun to a truly impressive degree for someone his age, however, he will grow _very_ fatigued by afternoon.  I shall send a carriage to wait outside until you can convince him to make use of it to come home to rest.”

      “Well, I suppose we can read together or something.  Though… focusing my eyes… eye…  on anything for too long right now makes my head hurt.”

      “Yeah, that’s common for a good, hard knock.  I’ll come back and check again tomorrow to see how you’re doing and I’ll give you something tonight to take away a little more of the pain.”

Lestrade smiled at the newly-returned witch, who smiled back as comfortingly as she could.  Once nice potion to dull the pain, speed up the healing and knock him out like he’d been hit with a hammer.  Which, apparently, she could start making now that Mycroft and Sherlock had arrived.  Not that they were near the cell yet, but the sound of Mycroft’s feral hiss as he passed the constables was easily audible, even to human ears.

      “Here.  We have retrieved your wares.”

Mycroft dropped the items into Mrs. Hudson’s quickly outstretched hands, then promptly ignored the witch as he returned his full attention to his husband.

      “How are you, Gregory.  Are you still in great pain?”

Lestrade had a teasing comment to make, but packed it away, seeing the deep concern on his husband’s face.

      “A little, but I’ll manage.  Mrs. Hudson said she’d give me something, anyway.”

      “That I will, boy.  And work in a little extra to help fade those bruises a tad more quickly than normal.  He’s going to be fine, Mycroft, I promise you that.  Sherlock, you want to help me make this potion?”

Sherlock’s excited gasp as he fled after Mrs. Hudson finally put a whisper of a smile on Mycroft’s lips and he felt a tiny bit more of his inner fire abate.  Speaking of fire…

      “I only ask because I know it would pain you, Gregory, but… you were not called to use your ability, were you?”

Mycroft asked the question in a very soft voice, knowing that only his husband and his father would be able to hear.

      “No, actually.  I mean… I _could_ have, as you know, and I even felt it rising up once or twice, but I made sure it didn’t, which took some of my attention off the situation and earned me a few extra bruises for my troubles.  That’s ok, though because the last thing I needed was for that information to come out now and, worse, let people see just how destructive I can be.  People burned, maybe even some of the constables or your dad’s men… that wouldn’t do me a lot of good at trial, would it?  There probably wouldn’t even be a trial, they’d just send me to the gallows and save everyone the trouble.”

Mycroft could feel his father’s relief and it was as profound as his own.  Truly, that would not have helped their cause, even if his husband had only acted in self-defense.

      “Though it did your body no good, I know well that you soul is happier and your mind is calmer that you have not that additional worry to endure.  And I shall stay with you to keep your spirits high and monitor your condition.  Do not fret, my beloved.  You are now safe.”

And, with his son settling in like a troll in his cave, the family patriarch took the moment to offer Lestrade his own assurances and let his heart break a little for the young man on the bed.  So hard… Gregory’s life had been so incredibly hard and it seemed that Fate was not yet finished testing him.  It was brutally unfair, but life was often that way and there was naught for it but to offer love and support, two things he and his wife were more than willing to give.  As were the two people making their way back into the cell with triumphant looks on their faces.

      “Alright, Sherlock and I have made something very nice for you, though it doesn’t, in any manner, taste that way.  But, I want you to drink all of it, every last drop, and then we’ll leave you with Mycroft to have some rest.  And I do mean rest.  Mycroft, watch he doesn’t try to stay awake when he should be sleeping because that’s best for his healing right now, do you understand me?”

Mycroft snarled, but it lacked the fangs of the others he had been giving.

      “I am not dull-witted.”

      “Good.  Now, Greg, drink up.”

Lestrade drained the liquid in the small cup, having to choke down the last half by force of will alone.  It was _horrid_.

      “Mrs. Hudson, if you have poisoned my husband…”

Oh, such a loving growl in Mycroft’s voice.  Mrs. Hudson was convinced that when Lestrade was finally released, he and Mycroft wouldn’t leave Mycroft’s room for a week and woe be it to any of the household staff who approached those rooms without the benefit of hearing protection.

      “Settle down, Mycroft, or it’s over my knee you go.  Like I said, it tastes like a combination of badger piss, rancid meat and moldy old shoes, but it will do the trick.  And remember what I told you about rest because he needs a _lot_.”

Mrs. Hudson gave Mycroft the stink eye, but took the newlywed in a big hug and whispered in his ear.

      “He _will_ be alright, Mycroft, because he knows you love him and that’s the best medicine of all.”

And, with that, the witch was hustling out of the cell, followed quickly by Sherlock, who shocked everyone by patting Lestrade gently on the shoulder before scampering off.

      “And, now, I shall take my leave.  Gregory, rest assured that no complement of men can be incarcerated here that my son cannot tear to pieces so small they appear to be dust.  Wet, bloody dust, but dust, nonetheless.  Mycroft, I shall see you… later.”

Watching his father leave, Mycroft felt far more content than he had since they arrived.  His father, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson… he knew he needed their help and support to properly tend to his husband, and that help had been incalculably valuable, but he preferred things as they were now.  He and his Gregory, alone as a couple, in his Gregory’s time of need.  Now, he could manage every detail of his husband’s care and that was as he liked it.  Though there was _some_ comfort in knowing that there were constables standing by if a panicked summoning of Mrs. Hudson became necessary.

      “I think it’s working.”

      “Pardon, my dear?”

      “The badger piss. I think it’s working.  My head’s not throbbing as badly as it was before.”

      “Ah, very gladdening news.  Now, I suggest you take Mrs. Hudson’s advice and rest.  Shall I read to you?  I see you are treading through this particular tome…”

Mycroft picked up the book that had a piece of string marking a page and smiled at his spouse.

      “That would be wonderful.  I adore your voice.”

      “Then I will strive to make it as dulcet as possible for you.”

      “Sexy, too.  Can you add in a little extra sexy?  I’ve been very lonely for you…”

      “I shall eroticize my tones in a most arousing fashion.”

      “Perfect.”

Lestrade closed his functional eye and let Mrs. Hudson’s concoction do its work while Mycroft began to read.  It had been a bloody miserable night, but the misery was fading now that his husband was there.  And wasn’t the sound of that gorgeous husband’s voice making sleep feel like a very, very good thing to embrace…

__________

      “Sherlock, why don’t you run ahead to my shop and pick out something to bring home with you as payment for helping me with my potion.  Your dad and I will be along shortly.”

Sherlock glared at the pair, feeling the strong prickles of suspicion at the back of his neck, but decided the physical benefits of acquiring something new for his laboratory was more important than the less-physical benefit of gaining a few scraps of information from their conversation.  When the boy was out of earshot, Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily and smiled in a way that the elder Holmes didn’t find comforting.

      “You don’t think this was coincidence, do you, Martha?”

      “I wish I did, but no.  I’ve heard talk and the constables verified that there have been quite a few new faces about town recently.  We normally see a good number of travelers in the summer, but it’s a mix of families and couples, as well as singles.  These past days, it’s mostly been unaccompanied men passing through and these aren’t exactly passing.  They’re lingering.  And some of them were part of that brawl and saw inside of the jail.  Now, I’m not saying I know anything for sure, because I don’t, but… bringing in a few extra hands to stir up a little trouble… make our Greg show his hand or get him _accidented_ to death… that sounds right up this Magnussen’s alley.  None of it is magical, so my wards won’t guard against it and it’s a damned smart plan if you think about it.”

      “I’d rather not, actually.  And, unfortunately, I have to admit that you have a point.  If Charles believes Gregory knows something or remembers something about the fire… something that could link him to it… he wouldn’t hesitate to try and silence him, even if he can no longer lay any claim to Gregory’s property.  I shall alert my men to be additionally vigilant if others are to share the jail with my son.  As it is, we should consider ourselves fortunate that no one was in possession of a hidden weapon.”

      “That we should.  I’ll have a chat with the constables, too, and let them know our worries.  They know that Magnussen isn’t to be trusted, I’ve made certain of that, but it pays to _keep_ them knowing that particular fact.”

      “Thank you.  Now, shall we see what ruin Sherlock has brought to your shop?”

      “Oh, he’s really good lad, just gets a bit excited and forgets to think about consequences.  Don’t worry, there’s nothing he can turn himself into that I can turn him back out of.”

      “Excellent.  And, of course, the cost would be most reasonable.”

      “Let nobody say Martha Hudson isn’t a fair businesswoman.”

      “Lest they be turned into a toad.”

      “If I’m in a good mood.  They’ll be a flea if I’m not.”


	17. Chapter 17

Mycroft held up the ring and looked at it from every possible angle, comparing it countless times with his sketch.

      “Your verdict, son?”

      “I see no flaw in it.”

      “Nor do I, though it would be prudent, perhaps, to once again impose upon Mrs. Hudson to use her seeing crystal to verify our assessment.”

      “Yes, that would be wise.  We can make not even the slightest mistake.”

      “That we cannot.  The pain of any error on our part will not be borne by us.”

Something that had, for these past few days, weighed heavily on Mycroft’s mind.  It was all well and good to have a plan and carry it forward, however, failure carried its own set of consequences and his husband would suffer for them far more severely than would those who concocted the scheme.

      “Then we shall ensure there is no misstep on our part.  I shall take the ring to Mrs. Hudson immediately.”

Both men waited patiently for Sherlock to erupt from his hiding place under the sofa, politely not commenting on the grunting and flailing while the boy was birthed into the study.

      “I shall carry the ring!”

      “Thank you, brother, but my own inner torment would be soothed by keeping our prize in my possession.”

      “Then I shall accompany you!  You cannot be trusted not to be distracted by the aroma of a pie cooling on a windowsill, failing to emerge from your gluttonous feast until long after Lestrade has met the axeman’s blade.  Come, and know that I shall not tolerate any slow wingedness.”

Sherlock stormed out of the study and Mycroft simply shook his head in resignation.

      “You master waits, son.  Verily, I fear for your welfare if you cause him to linger long before starting out.”

      “It was not necessary, you know, Father, to bring a second child into the world.  One was quite sufficient to carry on the family interests.”

      “Accidents happen.”

With zero inclination to pursue that statement, Mycroft strode out of the study, finding Sherlock waiting just outside the main door of their home.

      “I have changed my mind.”

      “Oh, very well.  In that case, I shall see you when I return.”

      “Fool.  I meant about our mode of travel.  We will take a carriage.”

      “If you wish, but might I know the reason?”

      “There are several books I desire to obtain from Mrs. Hudson, as well as a sack of charcoal from the wood of a wind-felled tree.  My supply of bottled cock crow is also depleted.”

      “You are hoping for a shopping excursion.”

“Yes, though, in fairness, I shall return to her several items I took on loan and a selection of spices from our last acquisition.”

      “An agreeable plan.  I shall make a carriage ready.”

      “Do not dawdle.”

      “I would never dare to do so.”

Sherlock stalked back into the house and began pulling together his cargo and, after a moment’s thought, _Mycroft_ stalked back into the house and began pulling together a parcel of clothing and other personal items for Lestrade, although, he knew very well they were not yet needed.  That, however, did not matter.  His dreams were still filled with images of his battered spouse, though Mrs. Hudson’s tending did produce admirable results and the vestiges of his Gregory’s experience were nearly faded.  The only good outcome of that night was that it required several days’ work for the men Father contracted to repair the jail from his _slight_ overreaction, meant that his Gregory was allowed a tad more freedom, which extended so far as to sit outside his cell on a small bench outside the jail to enjoy the fresh night air with his devoted husband.

It chafed, though.  It burned, really, that his Gregory, the most decent and noble of men, was treated in such a way when a true criminal such as Magnussen walked free, eating substantial meals at the inn and enjoying the amenities the village and warm summer weather had to offer.  When this distasteful business was concluded, he would see his beloved repaid for his suffering and Magnussen called to answer for his villainy.  Until then, he would ensure his beloved was kept in as much comfort as his situation allowed and if he, perhaps, was somewhat overly solicitous in his actions, he would happily bear the finger wagging.  His Gregory was adorable when he wagged a finger… and smiled his glorious smile… perhaps a few _extra_ comforts, today, were warranted…

__________

      “That’s a nice pepper.  Good, strong bite, just the way I like it.  Thank you, Sherlock.  Now, what do I have to do to pay for this completely altruistic act of yours?”

      “You believe me duplicitous?”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, very well.  I desire to conduct an experiment with the seeing crystal.”

Mycroft shook his head, and shook it more mournfully when it was clear Mrs. Hudson was considering the request.

      “Why?”

      “I wish to test its range.”

      “Oh.  Well, that’s easy enough.  It depends on the strength of the practitioner and a few other things, so we can find out how far you can see fairly easily.  But, we’re going to look at the ring first and get that business out of the way so Mycroft can go and spend some time with Greg.  He seemed a little down today when I visited, so I’m certain he could use a little of his husband’s attention.”

If this wasn’t a vitally important objective, Mycroft would have thrown the ring at Mrs. Husband and raced out of the shop to rescue his spouse from whatever was plaguing him, but he was able to hold his impulses in check sufficiently to simply nod and make some very pointed ‘let’s get started’ motions at the witch.

      “Ok, since the bastard is generally at the inn this time of the evening, I’ll start looking there and… there we go.  One pitiful excuse for a human sitting in front of a fire, reading a book.”

      “Summon a fire spirit to immolate the fiend!”

      “That’s murder, Sherlock, and it’s illegal, even for someone who deserves it.  Besides, fire spirits can be nasty buggers and might burn down the entire inn for a laugh.  Mycroft, get ready… I’ll pull the image out again and you can see how close the rings are.”

Mycroft immediately pounced on the image and Sherlock did the same, checking every detail, the size, the color… they could not test the weight, but it was highly doubtful the man was wearing a hollow band or a fake stone, so that issue should not pose a problem.  After sharing a look with his brother, Mycroft signaled Mrs. Hudson to stop and announced the copy to be successful, down to the smallest scuffs and nicks.

      “Good.  Now, as soon as you make the swap, I can get to work on the original.  Any idea how you’re going to do that.”

      “I shall mmphhh!…”

Mycroft held his hand over Sherlock’s mouth until he was somewhat certain the boy had received his message.

      “No, not as of yet.  Sherlock does have a point when he reminds me that my own skills for stealth are not the most robust and, in mist form, I cannot manipulate physical objects.  Though I might use that technique to gain entrance and exit from Magnussen’s room at the inn, the removal of the ring from his finger would require I take a more substantial form and I am not convinced I could, in that situation, successfully do the deed.”

      “I suspected as much.  I do have one idea, but I hesitate to mention it.”

      “Burning down the inn, I assume, is still out of bounds.”

      “The innkeeper is a nice lad, so no burning down his business.  My worry more concerns that one.”

Sherlock actually looked at his chest, which was exactly where Mrs. Hudson was pointing.

      “Sherlock?”

      “He gets into enough trouble as it is.”

And, of course, Sherlock suddenly looked highly excited, which convinced Mycroft that Mrs. Hudson’s concerns were certainly valid.

      “I am actually fearful to ask.”

      “Be silent behemoth!  Divulge the details, Mrs. Hudson and do not spare a single one!”

      “Well… you’re going to have to steal the ring, that much is certain so… you might as well have a professional do it for you.”

      “Hire a thief?  That is… do you know any?”

      “A few, actually, but I haven’t seen many passing through town lately.  However, we do have a local, well-known perpetrator that might do the trick.”

      “Then I would meet this man.  Is he… good?”

      “Oh, I’d say so.  Makes a very tidy living off other people’s possessions.”

      “Will you arrange a meeting?  Price is no object if he worries about payment.”

      “Oh, he will, but I suspect you can meet whatever he asks.  Now, why don’t you run along to check on your husband and I’ll mind Sherlock until you’re ready to return home.”

      “Yes, it is getting late and Gregory is still recovering his energies, so an early night for him is warranted.  Sherlock, kindly do not commit any acts that will deplete my personal accounts.  I would hate to receive my husband from his incarceration, only to make our home in a thatch-roofed hut.”

      “Pfftt… I shall do as I like and you will be honored to pay compensation for the outcome.”

Mycroft reached over and grabbed Sherlock’s shirt, pulling it partway over his head so the boy was trapped and could only shriek for rescue before he took his leave and began driving the carriage towards the jail, which, when he arrived, seemed to finally have been returned to its normal, robust condition.

      “Mycroft!  Like clockwork my husband appears and comes bearing gifts!”

Mrs. Hudson was correct.  The words were jubilant, but his beloved’s smile came nowhere near reaching his beautiful eyes.

      “I found myself wanting to give to you a few additional baubles and comforts.  It is rare the spirit of generosity inhabits me, so take full advantage while you are able.”

No, that was not fully his husband’s laugh, but it was a delight to hear, nonetheless.

      “You know I’m very happy to take advantage of you, love.”

      “That I do.”

Mycroft handed over his packages, which were nothing more than some new books, a well-wrapped portion of roasted meat, a few sweet treats to follow the meat and some clean clothes, but he had included a selection of small metal puzzles he had purchased from the blacksmith, knife and pieces of wood for his Gregory to whittle.  The latter was prompted by a memory of some of the trinkets in his husband’s cottage, which had, obviously, been hand carved, though somewhat crudely.

      “Oh, these look good.  I’ve seen some of these puzzles in for sale and always wondered about them.  But, I don’t think they’ll let me keep the knife.”

      “Are you going to carve your way through the stone wall?”

      “Or work the lock of the door.  Or hold a constable hostage so they let me out.”

      “Are you likely to do either of those things?”

      “No.”

      “Something of which, I suspect, our constables are fully aware.  You are a model prisoner, my dear, and one who they must know does not _have_ to be here.  Father and I could easily have spirited you away far from their grasp, yet here you sit.”

      “Really?  That would be nice, actually, because…”

      “You enjoy working with wood?”

      “How’d you know?”

      “You have few personal things, my love, so none easily go unnoticed. I _have_ observed your handiwork.”

      “It’s pure shite, isn’t it?  My dad was teaching me how to carve, but… well, we didn’t get very far.  I like it, though.  It’s given me something to do and I even traded a carving now and then for a loaf of bread or bit of vegetable and grain for my cookpot.”

And now, the darkness shadowed his love’s eyes even deeper and Mycroft reached through the bars to run a hand across his spouse’s cheek.

      “What plagues you, Gregory.  And do not deny your ill humor for even Mrs. Hudson remarked upon the change in you.”

      “I’m sorry for that.  And…”

Lestrade took a step back and set down his treasures, dropping his body on the small bed when he was done, prompting Mycroft do drag a chair close to the bars for the coming conversation.

      “… it’s nothing really.  I’ve just got too much time on my hands to think, I suppose.  Summer is always harder for me than the other seasons, though it’s the best, in some ways, too.  There’s food to be had and the weather is good.  I can’t say that is always the case for the other three seasons.  But, having to struggle and fight to even survive doesn’t give me a lot of time to dwell on my life or remember what it used to be like before the fire.  But, in summer, it’s easier to get by day to day, so my mind doesn’t have a lot of distractions.  Meeting you and your family… my brain is _always_ busy, so it hasn’t been so bad, but in here… I guess I’m feeling a little heavy today, but it will pass.  Already, I’m feeling better now that you’re here!”

Something Mycroft did not doubt, however, he did not believe it was to the degree his husband would have him believe.  His dear Gregory had suffered so greatly… losing his family, bearing the pain of accusation, the long years alone struggling to survive… no matter what joys and comforts he could provide his husband, they would not erase the memories nor heal quickly the injuries to the soul that pained his beloved so very greatly.  Talk… conversation of the most private and caring nature was what his husband needed and he would receive _all_ he needed to ease his pains and make the ones that would never vanish lighter to carry.

      “I am very happy to be of service.  And your health?  You appear far less colorful today than even you were yesterday.”

      “Whatever Mrs. Hudson gave me was amazing!  I can see out of the window, though it was a nicer view when you punched out the bars, and I watch the people coming and going.  Now and then I see one of the blokes that were in the fight and they still look terrible!”

      “You are most fortunate Mrs. Hudson has eagerly taken you under her wing and adores you as fully as a grandson.  Though… by any chance have you spied…”

      “I’m not telling you who hit me, Mycroft.”

      “He should be made to answer for his abuse!”

      “If he’d done it on purpose, sure, but that’s not the case here.”

      “Can you be certain?”

      “I’ve seen a lot of tavern fights, love.”

      “But none where your welfare, or your lack thereof, played a key role in the plans of a nefarious man such as Magnussen.”

      “Mycroft…”

      “I heard Father speaking to Mummy, Gregory.  Both he and Mrs. Hudson suspect some impropriety and worry this shall not be the final salvo.”

      “If you think that surprises me, then I’m surprised at _you_.”

Mycroft blinked a few times to attempt to restart his brain, which had gotten stuck much like a carriage wheel in a muddy road.

      “What?”

      “Mycroft, I sit here _waiting_ for something to happen.  An arrow to come through the window or a knife to be thrown in, some constable taking me outside and I don’t come back, the constables get called out for an emergency, so somebody can sneak in, someone gets put in the cell with me and I don’t wake up in the morning… I am _always_ waiting for something to happen, Mycroft, no matter how many men your dad has around or what Mrs. Hudson can do to keep a witch from hexing me dead.  And maybe I can fight what’s sent my way and maybe I can’t, but… yeah, it’s on my mind…”

It was only by sitting on his hands that Mycroft was able to restrain himself from ripping the door off of the cell and leaping forth to comfort his spouse.  This was intolerable.  Absolutely intolerable.  Not only was his husband being physically compromised, he was being mentally battered and that was not acceptable.  Whatever this thief Mrs. Hudson knew desired for payment, he would give gladly if the man would make quick his work so that they could move forward with their plans.

      “I do apologize, my dear, for I did _not_ believe that would so prominently occupy your thoughts.  And I grieve for it, Gregory.  That you suffer so ceaselessly appalls me and I will do everything in my power to bring it to a swift and sure end.”

      “I know you will, love.  That is one thing I absolutely have no doubt about.  Let’s talk about happier things, though, what say?  What’s Sherlock up to, today?  Is it going to cost you a lot?”

This time, his husband’s smile touched his warm, brown eyes, not enough to please Mycroft, but more than he’d seen before and he would take that as a victory.  And Sherlock had so many escapades about which to report to further lift his Gregory’s spirits…

__________

      “Force it to obey!”

Mrs. Hudson grinned behind Sherlock’s back, enjoying the show of the small boy vibrating in fury.

      “Wish I could, but it’s in _your_ hands, so you’re the one who has to do that.  I told you it wouldn’t be easy, Sherlock.  It’s fairly high-level magic and you have to be patient and focused, two things you know you have trouble with.”

      “That is a lie!  I am supremely patient and have the focus of an assassin preparing to eliminate its quarry!”

      “Did you actually expect me to believe that?”

Sherlock turned and scowled, but didn’t comment further.

      “It’ll come, lad, I promise, but you have to practice and be willing to accept that.”

      “I do!  I simply…”

Something in Sherlock’s bearing told the older woman that there was something on the child’s mind that maybe, just maybe, he’d be willing to talk about.

      “Simply what, Sherlock?  Mycroft isn’t here, so if you want to talk about something, you know you can trust an evil old woman like me.”

The small boy threw himself into a chair and waved his hands about as if trying to shake out the frustration.

      “Lestrade is still imprisoned!”

      “True, and he will be until this mess is finally cleared away.”

      “It is not fair!”

      “No, it’s not.  Life’s that way sometimes.  A lot of times, actually.”

      “Not to me.”

Oh, the little imp was starting to realize something very important… this was surely a day to celebrate.

      “You’re right.  There’s a lot of little things that might seem unfair, like you’re not allowed a certain spellbook or have your gold supply cut off, but nothing terrible.  You’re a lucky boy, Sherlock. You and Mycroft both.  You have money, opportunity, power… something not one in a thousand people have.  Probably not one in _ten_ thousand or even more.  Something happens to you, you can make it go away, but that’s not what regular people can do.  They have to endure what life throws at them, even if they don’t deserve any of it.  Even if it hurts or leaves them without a home or a job or their freedom.  It’s miserable, but it’s the truth.”

      “But… it should _not_ be!  It is unfair and wrong and why should a blackguard like Magnussen have a comfortable life when Lestrade… seven years is an eternity for a human!”

      “It’s a very long time, yes, and his life _was_ a harsh one during those years.  And, even if we clear his name, it won’t bring his family back.  He’ll have to live with that loss for as long as he lives.”

Sherlock’s scowl intensified and he grabbed fists of hair to defuse some of his anger.

      “It… it is not right!  It is not logical or rational!”

      “I agree, but that doesn’t change anything.”

      “ _I_ will change it.  I will see Lestrade free from his insult and justice be served against Magnussen.”

Sherlock’s scowl had morphed into a feral snarl and his small fangs dropped as far as they could, very much impressing the witch who knew all along that Sherlock had a good heart, but adored seeing the evidence presented so clearly.

      “That’s what I like to hear.  And you’ve been doing a good job, so far, which I know Greg appreciates.  We’re not going to stop, either, until you get that justice.  We’re going to keep trying until we grind that worm under our heel and Greg can walk free with his head held high.  How does that sound?”

      “Agreeable.  And I shall be party to every bit of it!”

      “Gladly.  Is that… is that the reason you wanted to try the seeing crystal?  To keep an eye on our worm?”

The flash in Sherlock’s eye told the witch she’d exposed his motive and, frankly, had to admit it was a good idea.

      “Perhaps.”

      “Smart.  The problem is you can’t use this thing for long.  You’ll probably have a small headache already from the time you’ve used it and any longer is just going to make it worse.  This is definitely a magic that exacts a price and it’s not one you can pay for very long.  And, to be honest, I’ll admit to a bit of snooping when I’ve had a moment.”

      “To no avail?”

      “Not really.  Nothing but normal day-to-day goings on.  But, as long as he’s here waiting on word about whether the trial will be here or in Greg’s homeland, we’ve still time to find something to tie a hangman’s noose for.”

      “And I shall not let a moment of that time go to waste.”

      “Good lad.  Now, how about we pack this away for now and I show you a few new tricks with the spices you brought me?”

      “I… I may return soon for another lesson with the crystal?”

      “My seeing crystal isn’t going anywhere and you can pop in to use it whenever you’d like, so long as you’re not spying on your brother and his husband having a bit of a cuddle.”

As expected, Sherlock’s mood broke and he hopped of his chair to better mimic a person who recently swallowed a live trout.

      “I can think of nothing more horrifying.”

      “Oh, I bet we can come up with a few things.  We can talk about them while we work.”

Mrs. Hudson led Sherlock into the main shop area and smiled when her squeeze of his shoulder wasn’t shrugged off.  It had taken awhile, but the littlest vampire in the family was starting to see the world beyond the end of his nose and good for him wanting to take up swords against the worst of it…

__________

      “Must I?”

      “We have this conversation every night, love.  Maybe I should just write it down and hold it up for you to read when it’s time for you to go?”

      “But, there really is no reason I cannot remain.  I proved that I would not be an accomplice to your escape when I remained here to safeguard your person.”

      “That’s true and I appreciate it since I’m sure the thought crossed your mind.”

Many times, but that was not a fact about which his husband needed to be aware.

      “Pish tosh.  I am committed to and fully support your choice to remain here.”

      “No, you don’t, but that’s ok.  I like it that way, actually, knowing you’d do something dashing and daring like break me out of a jail cell.  But it’d make the constables look bad and they’re a good lot, so this is the way it needs to be.”

Mycroft sniffed his disbelief of Lestrade’s assessment of his jailors, but knew that his spouse was not going to let him remain and the longer he argued, the less rest his beloved would see this night.  Time for a strategic retreat.

      “Very well, but tomorrow, once I have completed the profit/loss analysis Father has assigned me for some of his business interests, I shall return and we might read together, yes?”

      “That sounds perfect.  Tell your family I said hello, ok?”

      “I will.  They are very eager for news when I return home and I shall inform them you are well and send your kind regards.”

      “Thanks.  Goodnight, Mycroft.  I love you.”

      “And I love you, my dearest.  Each day I find myself surprised by the strength of my love for you for every day it grows and deepens.”

      “You’ll have a nice night?  Do something enjoyable when you get home?”

      “I shall engage Sherlock in a game of wits and strategy.  His behavior is always a treat to observe as he navigates my traps and snares.”

      “Excellent!  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “That you will, my husband.”

It was not getting easier for Mycroft to leave his spouse’s side, but it _was_ getting easier to hide that fact and the vampire walked confidently out of the cell area with only a single look back to catch the kiss he knew Lestrade would blow.  Now, he could only hope that Sherlock had left Mrs. Hudson’s shop in somewhat the condition they had found it, so the rest of his night could be peaceful.  A bit of peace and quiet after leaving his spouse was always a welcome thing…

__________

      “Ah.  How lovely.”

      “Don’t worry, it washes off.  But, isn’t that a lovely color for Sherlock?  Really brings out his eyes.”

That his brother’s face was slathered with a rather vibrant blue mixture was something Mycroft hadn’t expected, but he had learned never to have expectations when he collected his brother from a visit at the witch’s shop.

      “And do not break my circle of coriander seed and rabbit dung.”

      “I would not dream of it.”

Letting the boy continue with his conjuring, Mycroft had a silent conversation with Mrs. Hudson that informed him his brother had a non-destructive visit and had actually done something to please the elderly witch.  What that was he might never know, and, given the nature of things that _could_ have pleased the woman, it was perhaps best he never found out.

      “Now, try your spell, lad.”

Sherlock murmured his incantation and could not hide his glee when grew a full six palm-widths taller.

      “Oh, dear heavens… please tell me this is not a permanent alteration of Sherlock’s form?”

      “No, but it’ll last long enough for him to grab something out of his reach or if he wants to disguise himself when he’s in town so nobody throws an egg at his miserable little head.  Only lasts a short while, though.”

That was a relief.  Tiny Sherlock was enough of a handful.  _Less_ tiny Sherlock was something he was surely not ready to manage.

      “Very well.  Sherlock, kindly wash your face while Mrs. Hudson prepares the bill so we might depart.”

      “No.”

      “Then we shall return home with you appearing thusly and I am certain the household staff will be thankful for the amusement of your colorful visage.”

The loud huff of annoyance was familiar and held little heat, signaling his brother did not object too strenuously to the end of their visit.

      “He’s got several new spells to work on tonight, so expect some interesting goings on once you’re home.”

      “Was that truly necessary?”

      “Boy has to practice if he wants to hone his skills.  How’s Greg?”

      “Better, I believe.  You were correct in that he was… not himself.”

      “Reason?”

      “Old ghosts is perhaps the best way to phrase it.”

      “Understandable.  Lad had a lot on his mind and the time to feel every bit of its weight.”

      “Such was the heart of the issue.  When might I meet with your thief?  I would prefer it be sooner than later.”

      “I’ll send him a message and if he wants to talk to you… he’ll meet you at the cottage just before dawn.  I won’t guarantee anything, either that he’ll be there or he’ll say yes, but… I think he’s just what you need.”

      “Tonight?”

      “You said you wanted sooner.”

      “I just… that is fine.  That is more than fine, actually.  Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “You’re welcome.  Now, shall we settle up?”

      “I came prepared.”

Mycroft withdrew the heavy purse he’d been carrying and laid it on the counter.

      “Well, let’s see if I can send you home with some of that.  You need to start bargaining, young man, now that you have a house and husband to keep.  Every little bit helps.”

Something he would take to heart.  The bills for the house renovations were starting to arrive and Father laughing at him was certainly not a pleasant thing…

__________

Mrs. Hudson waited until Sherlock and Mycroft left, then started a cup of tea brewing before she stepped outside the rear of her shop, closed her eyes, stretched out her arm and waited.  In a few moments, a raven landed on her forearm and looked at her with some degree of irritation.

      “Don’t glare at me, you useless old thing.  Just remember who keeps nice plants growing in her garden for you to nibble that keep the nasties out of your feathers and belly.  All I need you to do is deliver a message for me.  Got time for that?”

The raven gave a snort Sherlock would envy and listened to Mrs. Hudson’s message, haughtily receiving the chunk of rabbit meat as its payment.

      “That’s a good lad.  Now, be off with you.  And tell that owl with the infected foot to stop in and see me later.  I have just the thing to fix it up better than new.”

The raven nodded and flew off to deliver its messages and enjoy its meal.  For her part, the witch just crossed her fingers the thieving bastard who’d receive one of the messages had been paying attention to some of her lessons on being _less_ of a bastard.  The thieving part they’d work on some other time…

__________

      “No.”

      “Yes.”

      “Under no circumstances.”

      “Under this circumstance, because I _am_ going with you.”

Sherlock glared at his brother, from his usual height, much to Mycroft’s delight, and blocked the door to Mycroft’s bedroom with his body.

      “Sherlock, the individual with whom I am meeting is not an honorable one and I cannot predict his conduct.”

      “That matters not, because I am well equipped to defend myself, even if I did not have in my possession a weapon and several highly useful spells.  Which I do.”

      “I promise, I give you my solemn word, that I will provide to you all details of my meeting, but I cannot…”

      “I can no longer stand your prattle.  I am leaving for the cottage.  Come or stay, it is entirely your choice.”

Sherlock marched out of the bedroom and Mycroft took stock of his options.  Since those that might keep his brother here would require an outlay of time that he did not possess, the decision was one to which he quickly came.  Besides, it was not as if a single human, regardless of size or strength, could get past him to do his brother any damage.  And, truth be told, he would enjoy a living target on which to vent his ever-simmering rage…

__________

      “Where is he?”

      “My level of knowledge is exactly the same as yours, brother dear.”

      “Pfft.  You could not be more useless if you were made of straw.”

      “Thank you.  Mrs. Hudson did not give us a firm meeting time, so I suppose…”

      “Well, what do you want?”

Sherlock and Mycroft would never admit to jumping a little at the voice, but jumped a little at the voice, turning quickly to find a small blond boy about Sherlock’s age, in a relative sense.

      “Oh, pardon us, child, but we have business at this cottage, which we do own and are not currently seeking to rent.  Do toddle along to your parents, for I am certain they are wondering where you are.”

      “First, you stupid vampire, my parents are lah-de-dahing somewhere and I don’t lah-de-dah.  Second, you wanted a thief, didn’t you, or are you so thick that you forgot that fact.”

Mycroft didn’t need to see Sherlock’s ecstatic smile to understand Mrs. Hudson’s misgivings with perfect clarity.

      “ _You_ are the thief?”

      “Got a problem with that?”

      “I… I do, actually.  You are both too young and too small to be involved in such illegalities.”

      “Just because I’m small, don’t think I can’t kick your arse, then do it again just for fun.  And second, I’m not young, so don’t think you can treat me like some idiotic baby.  My name’s John and I’m an elf, so don’t you look even stupider than before.”

      “A…an elf?”

      “Got a problem with that?”

      “No… not at all.”

      “Then let’s talk.  I don’t have all night.”


	18. Chapter 18

Mycroft stared down at the small boy and let his internal debate rage.  On one hand… a small boy.  Elf or not, this was a child and embroiling a child in this despicable business was certainly not honorable.  On the other hand… a small _elf_ boy.  Elves were not human and made from a hardier stock than his beloved’s species and had their own magic at their disposable.

      “Well?  Did your tongue suddenly get so fat it can’t move in your mouth?”

      “Yes!  Mycroft’s tongue is much like that of a cow’s and, since it is not engaged in its usual job of facilitating the chewing of cud, he is at a loss as to how it should be manipulated for the task of verbalization.”

      “That is quite enough, Sherlock.  And for your information, child…”

      “John!”

      “Yes, pardon me… John.  I was simply reflecting upon your assistance in our endeavor.”

      “Not assistance, vampire.  That implies I’ll work for free and that’s not going to happen.  You want my services, you’re going to have to pay for them and I don’t work cheap.”

      “I see.  I shall take, then, the position that I am discoursing with a businessman.  I propose that I outline for you the parameters of your duties, the standard to meet for success and we may then commence the negotiations for your remuneration.  Shall we begin?”

      “What?  I lost track of all of that after the word ‘I.’  Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll tell you, first, if I’ll do it and, then, we’ll talk price.”

      “Once again, your loquacity marks you as a pretentious puffed partridge, Mycroft, and I will, if asked, deny all association with you and your superciliousness.”

      “There’s something wrong with your head, too, baby vampire.”

      “WHAT!  I demand satisfaction for that insult!  Mycroft, provide me with a sword so I might run this pipsqueak through like a suckling pig on a spit!”

      “You can’t use a sword, bloodsucker!  Your arms are thin as dandelion stems!”

      “Slander!  And for your information, a dandelion has a strikingly robust stem for a member of the flower kingdom!  You should know for you probably wear the flower itself as a hat!”

      “Take that back!  Elves don’t wear flower hats, that’s pixies and nobody calls me a pixie and gets away with it!”

Mycroft stood between the two boys, one had upon each of their foreheads, keeping them separated as they gnashed their teeth and continued their posturing.  Not that he’d harbored any real mental image about how this meeting would progress, but in no manner would this have ever entered his mind as a possibility.  If either of these little rodents bit him, Mrs. Hudson would receive an exceptionally stern reprimand.

      “That is quite enough!  Sherlock, you have hereby forfeited 10% of your upcoming allowance payment for your disreputable conduct.  John, you have hereby forfeited 10% of your fee for _your_ disreputable conduct.”

      “You do not control my allowance, Father does!”

      “And Father shall agree with me that the withholding is warranted.”

      “You can’t dock my fee!  What I do I _do_ and I deserve my money!”

      “Call it a lack-of-confidence penalty.  If your temper can flare so hotly over such a minor issue, I have grave misgivings about your ability to keep a cool head and successfully manage the task I shall lay upon you.”

The power of the duo’s combined pout was formidable, yet Mycroft was very used to enduring the withering stares and frustrated sulks of many an opponent across a business table and remaining unmoved.

      “Now, apologize to each other so we may return to business.”

      “Nope.  He called me a pixie.”

      “Never.  He derided my slender frame.”

      “Very well.  Your uncooperative attitude has earned you a further 5% deduction of your income and I do hope you enjoy thinking about the goods you now can fail to buy.”

Pointing out that the dances of enraged juvenile vampires and elves were nearly identical was probably not helpful at this point, so Mycroft remained silent and let the shrieking, fist waving and foot stomping slowly grind to a halt.

      “Very good.  Now, do pay attention, John, for what I require of you is highly delicate and must be performed flawlessly.”

      “Saying I’m sloppy with my thieving?”

      “Is it at all possible for you not to take offense at every word that issues forth from any mouth that might choose to address you?”

      “….. maybe.”

      “Then listen closely…”

Mycroft detailed what he needed from John and was actually surprised the elf remained quiet and paid attention to job description.

      “Well, are you willing to take the assignment?”

      “Why not just have me steal the ring?  Why swap it?  That doesn’t make sense.”

      “It does if you take into account that Magnussen is, rightfully, a suspicious individual.  He would look upon any theft as something perpetrated by us and press the issue at Gregory’s trial or, more worryingly, initiate some action against my husband’s person.  Given our lack of need for funds, the theft of the ring could only have some other purpose, such as a magical one and I have no doubt that would, ultimately, threaten Gregory’s welfare, something that I cannot allow.  Further, if we discover any useful information, we may need time to act upon it and that might not be as available to us if Magnussen applies pressure to speed Gregory’s trial, something he might certainly do if he deduced our intentions with his ring.”

      “So you need him to think nothing’s wrong until you’re ready to pounce.”

      “Succinctly put.”

      “Ok… and he wears it all the time?”

      “I would suppose so.”

      “No taking it off to bathe?”

      “In truth, I cannot provide for you an answer and I hesitate to ask Mrs. Hudson to spy upon the man in the bath and have to suffer the eternal guilt of having promoted her blindness.”

      “So, have to be some other time.  Does it fit tightly or loosely?”

      “I… I have no idea.”

      “Too bad.  If it’s loose, then it’s an easy collision on the street and swap it when I pick up the lost ring to hand back to him.”

      “Pfft.  I could do that.”

      “Yeah, teeny fangs?  You know how to knock someone so they lose a ring on the first try?”

      “I assume it is a matter of mathematics, something at which I excel and you cannot spell.”

The exchange of rude noises made Mycroft’s head ache even more than it already did and clearing his throat loudly to bring the latest round of sniping didn’t make it feel any better.

      “May we possibly remain on topic?”

The in-unison ‘he started it’ was not at all surprising and the older vampire could only hope if he and his husband chose to add children to their home, they could be carefully pre-screened for amiable demeanors and a healthy respect for peace and quiet.

      “Thank you.  Now, John, have you other ideas?”

      “Lots.  It just depends on what’s got the best chance of working.  I take it he’s not a nice person.”

      “Rather the opposite.”

      “That leaves out asking him to help me find my lost mother and slipping the ring off ‘accidentally’ while I try to hold his hand.  Bastard… that would have been an easy one, too.”

      “Language, please.”

      “Whatever.  How much time do I have to plan?”

      “As little as possible.  Gregory’s trial date is awaiting a communication from his former home territory, but that should not be that long in coming.”

      “Figures.  Look, let me watch him for a day and see what I can do.  If this was anything else, it would be easy, but rings are tough.  Bastards, I mean… miseries have to be tugged off and that’s not easy to do without the person noticing.”

      “I can prepare a material to enhance the slipperiness of his skin.”

      “You can do that, flappy bat?”

      “My name is Sherlock and yes, I can.  My abilities with magic are extremely well-developed.”

      “Oh.”

Sherlock’s talents, at least, seemed to interest the elf and Mycroft knew that this turn of events should not, likely, be classed as a good thing.

      “However, John, if you are envisioning a magical solution, we have already considered that route and found it as ill-conceived an approach as stealing the ring outright, my brother’s skills notwithstanding.”

      “No… that wasn’t what I was thinking.  You and me, teeny… Sherlock… we’ll talk later when your friend here isn’t around to get in the way.”

Sherlock’s glare morphed into an expectant and decidedly evil grin and Mycroft hoped his husband would not begrudge him a very large… few very large… goblets of wine to recover from this conversation.

      “I believe we shall enact a moratorium on unsupervised visitations for the time being.  I agree, however, that your decision to put Magnussen under surveillance for a day is a good one.  It demonstrates a professional commitment that is to my liking; therefore, I shall refund 5% of your previously-lost wages.”

John’s quickly cut off ‘hurray,’ was followed by a particularly intense ‘who cares’ expression that helped round out Mycroft’s perception of the elf.  A truly horrific child, but a child nonetheless.  Much like his own brother.

      “And me?  Why must I continue to live as a pauper while John rolls in his windfall like a dog upon a dead rabbit?  I am providing the ease-of-removal potion!”

      “You are correct and it is only right you have your own reward.  You may also have 5% of your next allowance payment refunded.”

Sherlock’s own flash of gleeful grin made Mycroft chuckle and feel far more in control of the situation now that he had his hand fully back on the rudder of the conversation.

      “I believe it is now time to discuss payment.  John, what do you propose as your fee?”

And, as expected, the elf’s eyes grew large and he struggled to stammer out an answer.

      “Why… you tell me what you want to pay and I’ll decide if that’s enough.”

No, no, no… if one wants the best possible price for a good or service, one never divulges what one is willing to pay for it.  Allow the seller or provider to make the first move… something John was obviously not used to doing.

      “I would never risk giving you insult by stating too low a figure, knowing your tempestuous nature.  Please, state your standard fee and I shall decide if it is appropriate for the contracted work.”

      “I… how can I know how much to charge since I don’t know exactly what I’m going to have to do yet?  Yeah, that’s it.  So, you tell me how much you think the job’s worth and I’ll think about it a little.”

      “No… I believe you have a sufficiently full picture of the situation to set a fee.  I assume you have performed a similar task at some time in the past… use that experience as a frame of reference.”

And, from the elf’s expression, there were another few strokes added to their picture… dear little John had apparently _not_ done something like this in the past.  A thief, but not a thief-for-hire… fortunately ability to negotiate a suitable payment was not the skill for which he was being recruited.

      “Ummm…”

Mycroft watched with great interest as Sherlock grabbed the elf by the hand and dragged him away, stopping a few times, turning back to glare, then continuing on until, apparently, the young vampire believed himself out of earshot.  Poor Sherlock, he still had such a great deal to learn…

      “Hey!  What’s wrong with you?”

      “Fool!  He is leading you into a trap.”

      “What!”

      “It is obvious you have no head for business, unlike Mycroft who suckled from Father’s financial ledgers to obtain his nourishment as an infant. _I_ shall take over the negotiation.”

      “You?”

      “Yes… and for my assistance, you shall award me 10% of the agreed-upon sum.”

      “No!  I’m not giving you my money!”

      “You shall not have any money without my intervention.  Already you are poised to blurt out some pittance that Mycroft could scrape from the bottom of his shoe.  I shall secure a far more generous wage and we shall both see a profit from this night.”

      “You sure?”

      “Do you feel confident to stand toe-to-toe with someone who has stared down the warlords of the south and mountain trolls only to emerge victorious and richer because of it?”

      “I… I’m not scared.”

      “Fear is irrelevant… only money is relevant.  No, that is not true… specie is nonsensical, but it is required to acquire items that _are_ of worth.”

      “Are you sure you can get us a lot of money?”

      “Do you prefer gold or silver?”

      “Gold!”

      “Then we have an accord?”

      “Fine.  But if you try and cheat me, you won’t be happy with what I’ll do to you.”

      “As if you could do anything to me.  First, I am a vampire, which is a more highly evolved species than an elf.  Second, I am a magic practitioner of the highest order.  Notice I am not quaking from your threat.”

But he was yelping and hopping on one foot after John kicked him solidly in the shin.  Before he pushed Sherlock on the ground and sat on his chest.

      “Blah blah blah.  You don’t cheat me – got that?”

      “Get off of me!”

      “Not until you promise.  And if you break your promise, that’ll be an extra thing I’ll make you sorry for.”

Sherlock squirmed and wriggled, but he couldn’t dislodge the elf, who was surprisingly heavy for his size.

      “Fine!  I agree to your terms.”

      “Good.  Now go over there and get me some money.”

John jumped off and Mycroft quickly coughed to hide his laughter as the boys returned to the bargaining table.

      “Oh good, my loneliness has been lifted.”

      “You are not amusing, Mycroft, nor have you ever been.  Prepare yourself for battle for John has chosen me as his champion.”

      “I did not!”

      “Silence, toymaker!”

      “I don’t make toys!  I’m not my dad!”

      “CAN we return to the main focus of this discussion?”

      “Yes… yes, that is the important thing.  I shall make your private vault scream in agony!”

      “He’s got a vault?  Where is it?”

Mycroft dusted off the top step of the cottage and had a seat, waiting for this next round of distraction to cool its fires.  At some point, the negotiations would commence and he would see John handsomely rewarded if the task was successfully accomplished.  However, he would also have Mrs. Hudson strengthen the protections on his various storehouses of funds.  A small and determined assault would likely occur at the earliest opportunity, very likely with inside help to facilitate the incursion…

__________

      “We are agreed?”

Sherlock and John looked at each other and turned back to Mycroft to give him a firm nod.

      “Very well.  I shall make the initial payment tomorrow, as specified, and the remainder when the job has been completed.”

      “We meeting here?”

      “If you like.  Or if it is more convenient, we may meet at Mrs. Hudson’s shop.”

      “Why must we travel?  The elf can meet us at home and receive his due there.”

Sherlock nearly blurted out the words and Mycroft decided a visit to Mrs. Hudson was definitely in order.  His brother seemed to be intrigued by the thief and that… there were not enough headache herbs in existence to tide him over if they became… cordial.

      “That sounds good.  I’ll meet you at midnight.  You can show me that slippery stuff you were talking about, too, and I’ll see how good it works.”

      “Yes, and you can demonstrate your technique for parting an individual with their jewels.”

      “Ok, it takes a lot of practice, but…”

      “And it is time for us to depart.  John, thank you for agreeing to meet with us and, further, for accepting our request.  We shall expect you tomorrow at midnight.  For a supervised visit.”

The rude noises were becoming quite well harmonized and Mycroft motioned Sherlock upward, taking bat form, and was extremely happy his brother quickly followed, though the final whispered conversation with John was its own source of worry.  Something he had far too much of, as it was…

__________

Leaving Sherlock at home, Mycroft turned back towards the town and flew the distance to Mrs. Hudson’s shop at a leisurely pace.  His husband would wake soon and how fortunate he would be close by to bid him a good morning.  That was something he had experienced rarely, but missed terribly… waking with his husband at his side.  Humans were such lively sleepers, with their sounds and movements… positively adorable.  However, first he must deal with someone who was certainly not adorable, though they would not appreciate him stating it aloud…

Landing and stepping through the door, Mycroft found himself glaring at the elderly witch who was standing behind her counter, with two cups of tea in front of her, one of which was pushed forwards in hi s direction.

      “The tea’s hot, so don’t just stand there trying to set my hair on fire by staring at it.”

      “I am not certain if I am in a mood for tea.”

      “Yeah, that’s not uncommon when you have to deal with that little bastard.  He’s a handful, that’s for sure.  Parents are the nicest, sweetest elves you’d ever want to meet.  Pillars of the community, members of the region’s elf council… how they produced a larcenous little troublemaker like that is something _nobody_ can figure out.  He’s not a changeling… I checked.  A couple of times.”

      “Can you assure me that he is, at least, trustworthy?”

      “Good heavens, no.  Unless it’s important.  He’s not an evil boy, really.  Met him, actually, trying to steal a potion from my shop that he thought would help a farmer’s dog who was very sick.  Of course, he found that out, trying to rob the _farmer’s_ house, but that’s beside the point.  He just thinks differently than the rest of us and, if you understand that… he’s still a bastard, but a manageable one.  You should be well-practiced with that, though, so I have faith.  Just try and keep him and Sherlock from meeting, if you can… that’s an unholy mingling if there ever was one.”

      “Sherlock accompanied me to the meeting.”

      “Oh no.”

      “They quite nearly came to blows.”

      “Good!  All’s well that ends well.”

      “They then mended their fences and formed somewhat of an alliance.”

      “That’s _not_ good.”

      “Sherlock has invited John to our home tomorrow.”

      “Hide _everything_ you want to keep.  Have someone sit on your mother’s jewel cases just to be certain.”

      “I _was_ hoping to have you perform a few services to keep the family financially solvent.”

      “I’ll stop by at breakfast time, yours not mine, and we’ll see what we can do.  Actually, I was going to pay a visit anyway, so this works out nicely.  Your mother’s got some worries about the soil along the east edge of her gardens and I said I’d take a look.  I take it John took the job.”

Mycroft finally walked forward and took a sip of his cooling tea, feeling some of the night’s tensions begin to bleed away.

      “He did.  I will admit that he does seem to know what he is doing, however, I suspect this is his first… paying… job.”

      “You’re right about that.  Like I said, he’s not evil, he’s just… bored.  Likes a challenge.  And shiny things.  Shiny, expensive things.  As much as Sherlock doesn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps, John doesn’t want to make toys or shoes or help plants grow or all the other helpful things elves do.  I actually think that if I didn’t send the message and you tried to hire him directly, you would have had a hard time convincing him, though the fact the job’s for a good cause works in your favor.”

      “You almost make him sound noble.”

      “My mistake, then.  He _is_ a horrid little thing who’d steal the eyes from your head if he thought he could get a good price for them, but…he _is_ out best chance at getting that ring.”

      “The die is cast in any case.  He has accepted the job and will begin watching Magnussen to ascertain the most advantageous time to perpetrate his theft.”

      “Smart.  John’s a clever boy, I’ll give him that.  You’re not paying him unless he delivers, right?”

      “I, also, am a clever boy, thank you very much, though I did agree to a small up-front payment that must be refunded in the event of failure.”

      “Good luck with that.  I wouldn’t put it past him to shove what you gave him up his arse and tell you to go up there and get it.”

      “What a delightful image.”

      “Just being honest.  It sounds like things went well, though, all things considered.  You told Greg?”

      “No… and I am wondering if I should.  I would despise raising his hopes only to dash them if we fail.”

      “Greg’s not fragile, and he won’t be happy if he finds that you’re keeping things from him, no matter how good your intentions.  Now, drink your tea and I’ll make us another while we wait for the prisoner to get his lazy self out of bed.  I’ll send you away with a few nibbles for him, though, so he can have a little treat.  A little treat always makes the day start well.  He getting any bum problems from that jail food?”

      “Mrs. Hudson!”

      “Well?”

      “I… he has not made that particular complaint and I have had no opportunity to discover the answer firsthand.”

      “I’ll send a few good herbs along, anyway, just to be certain.  Whether his bum is too happy or not happy enough, they’ll fix things quite nicely.”

      “This conversation is over.”

      “You’re a married man, Mycroft.  Can’t run away from the practical things when you’re going to be sharing a house with another person.”

      “When Gregory and I are finally blessed to share a home together, I shall more seriously contemplate, as you say, the practical things.  In the meantime, kindly consider certain topics off limits for discussion.”

      “Poor Greg… going to be on his own when the river starts to run and he’s eating his weight in cheese put up the dam again.”

      “You truly don’t need me for this conversation, do you?”

      “Just trying to be helpful.  Now, let’s have a little more tea and you can be on your way.  Don’t need you staying awake late too often… you’ll need to be in top shape until this battle is over and done with.”

As the rising sun, kindly tapping on his shoulder, was gently informing him.

      “Yes, I am aware of that and will make my visit with Gregory a brief one.  He becomes upset when he perceives that I am not taking proper care of myself and I do not like to burden him.”

      “Good lad.  Though, I’m sure if you hand the constables a few coins, they’ll be willing to turn a blind eye to letting him take a little proper care of _you_ through the bars of his cell.  They understand husbandly duty.  And husbandly needs…”

Mycroft hung his head and let his tea be wrenched from his hand.  Apparently, there was no limit to how ghastly this night could be.  Perhaps there was some prize involved for surviving it intact… a cold compress would be most fitting and much appreciated…

__________

      “There’s my husband, looking tired and aggravated, even though he’s trying to smile.  Sherlock made you nuts last night?”

Mycroft mentally kicked his brain for failing to properly direct his facial features to project a vision of a relaxed and contented spouse.  Obviously, it was suffering the trials of the night as much as the rest of him.

      “As always, however, I also met with Mrs. Hudson.”

      “Oh dear, you did have a busy night.”

      “And that was still not the extent of my torment.  I met with an individual who shall act as our thief to substitute the imposter ring for Charles’s true adornment.  He is… bedeviling.”

      “Oily, weasly fellow?”

      “No, that is not quite how I would describe him.”

      “Big, bruiser of a lad?”

      “Rather the opposite, I’m afraid.  The ‘big’ portion, that is.”

      “Oh!  One of those little fellows that can get into small spaces and cause all sorts of mischief.”

      “That is something with which I would agree.  John is an elf.”

      “An elf?”

      “An elf _child_.”

      “He’s a kid!”

      “A rather unusual child, but a child nonetheless.  Mrs. Hudson vouches for his talents, however, so I am attempting to overlook his more… colorful… traits and focus solely on the skills of which we might make use.”

      “Mycroft…”

      “Yes?”

      “I can’t say I’m comfortable involving a kid in any of this, elf or not.”

      “Nor was I, at first.  However, the theft of property is something for which young John is apparently well known, as is his disagreeable nature, so we cannot be blamed for any besmirching of his character.  And he is, at present, our best hope to achieve our goals.  If it is a balm to your conscience, I have a rather dyspeptic suspicion that he and Sherlock are circling each other, mulling a continued association.”

      “Oh no.”

      “Quite.”

      “I’m not sure which one of them I want to protect from the other.”

      “It is a considerable conundrum.”

      “I think I understand why you look like you’ve had a hard night and I have to say it’s well deserved.  Well, it’s my job to make you feel better so come here…”

Mycroft followed the crooked finger and took the kiss his husband offered, letting his body and mind relax as he enjoyed the simple, yet life-changing, pleasure of his Gregory’s affections.

      “That’s the thing for it, my day is going to be a good one, now.  Got a kiss from a gorgeous man and it looks like he’s bearing treats, if my nose isn’t lying.”

      “A gift from Mrs. Hudson.  As well as…”

      “Yeah?”

      “As well as a selection of herbs you are to sprinkle into your next meal to… protect the sanctity of your bottom.”

      “What?  I don’t think I’m in danger of being buggered in here, love.”

      “GREGORY!”

      “Well…”

      “Mrs. Hudson spoke of flowing rivers, if that is of any help.”

      “Oh!  Yes… good idea.  Can’t be too careful.”

Lestrade took his gifts and set them aside wondering just how much his husband had squirmed during _that_ discussion.  That would have been a treat to see… anything would be a treat to see right now.  Jail was boring and he wasn’t going got be seeing the outside of it for a good while now.  Maybe he needed to learn a new hobby.  Drawing was supposed to be nice.  Of course, all he could see to draw was his cell and an unvarying segment of the quiet area of town…

      “I shall pass along your thanks.  Now, my dear, how are you?  There has been no trouble of which to speak, I hope.”

      “Not a thing.  Quiet day, quiet night.  I expect the same today.  Got a new book to start and a few ideas for something to carve.  The constables said it was ok to keep my knife, just as long as I promised not to do anything rotten with it.  See!  Got the whole day planned!”

      “And you are lethally bored by the idea.”

      “Damn.  Why do you have to know me so well?”

      “For the same reason you know me.  I love you deeply and harbor a piece of your heart within my own chest, a piece of your soul within my core.”

      “You should write poetry.”

      “I shall leave that to those who would be willing to share their works with others.  My verse is for your ears alone.”

      “I like that.  Something special just for me.  So, how about a little something special for you?”

Lestrade lifted his wrist and Mycroft couldn’t help but lick his lips.

      “Go ahead, have a bite.  I’ve missed that more that I can say.”

That was all the encouragement the vampire needed and he took Lestrade’s wrist in his teeth, feasting on the most delicious flavor that had ever touched his tongue.  Perhaps he _should_ have graced the constables’ palms with a little silver because his body was beginning to ache with a physical need that he was far too tired of having to satisfy alone.  Though, apparently, he wasn’t going to have to, as his incomparable husband had decided to tend to his needs personally.  And with very talented hands.  Apparently, his beloved and a certain witch were thinking along very similar lines this morning…

      “That’s my beauty.  Knew you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen the very first time I saw you.  Beautiful, sexy, perfect… my husband is a perfect man and I love to taste his gorgeous lips, suck that amazing cock of his down deep into my throat, lick every inch of his creamy skin, drive deep into his body so he screams my name…  and let him do all of that to me.  Over and over and over…”

Mycroft held back as long as he could to take as much pleasure as possible from his lover’s touch and taste, but finally let his passion spill over Lestrade’s thick fingers and felt his feral side rise up again because his mind fully remembered their first night of shared intimacy and that was a vision to inspire the most bestial of responses.  If these bars were not between them, he would not allow his spouse to leave their bed for days and make each minute of those days wildly stimulating for the man he loved.

      “Now, that’s a sight I will never get tired of seeing.  My Mycroft satisfied, fed and happy.  I love you, husband.  Now go home and get some rest.  You probably have another busy night ahead of you.”

So caring.  So doting and loving and… intoxicating.  Truly, he felt as if he had drunk the goblets of wine he had hoped for but had valiantly avoided during this tumultuous night.

      “No answer?  I like that.  Means I showed my Mycroft a nice time and that’s always a good thing.”

Lestrade smiled wickedly and ran a little water over his fingers, drying them with a bit of cloth, which was moistened again and handed to Mycroft who took a moment to make his walk out of the jail a bit more comfortable.

      “The phrase ‘a nice time’ is a most inappropriate description.  I am enamored of you, Gregory, and the heights to which you can lift my senses and urges is indescribable.  Our home and our bed awaits you, my beloved, so I may most thoroughly demonstrate to you how greatly I treasure you and all that you are.”

      “The bedroom’s ready?”

      “It is.  The remainder of our home still has some ways to go before it is ready to greet us as permanent inhabitants; however, I ensured that specific one room could host us for a night here and there, if necessary, before we fully take possession of our new home.”

      “You’re such a romantic.”

      “For you, I do aspire to be.”

      “Now, go and be a _rested_ romantic.  I’ll see you tomorrow?”

      “You shall.  I must meet with John at midnight and Mrs. Hudson earlier, however, there is sufficient time in between to visit.”

      “Don’t overtax yourself, love.”

      “I shall not, for I know it will distress you.  Enjoy our day, my husband.  I will see you soon.”

      “Sleep well, Mycroft.  Tell everyone hello.”

Mycroft took a final kiss from Lestrade’s lips and ran an eye over the contents of the cell for any items he might need to replenish, then took his leave, nodding at the constables and checking for any sign that their dalliance had been noticed.  Fortunately, it had not.  Which left open the door for other potential dalliances in the future, something that would occupy his thoughts as he drifted off to sleep.  With such on his mind, his sleep might actually be a happy one…


	19. Chapter 19

The instant breakfast was pronounced over, Sherlock sped from the table to avoid any more of the insipid conversation between his mother and Mrs. Hudson, lest his ears might commence bleeding.  In fairness, however, it was no worse that Father and Mycroft’s tedious dronings about business interests and investments.  He was adrift in a sea of crippling boredom without benefit of a comfortable raft or sustenance and escape was his only option for continued survival.

Besides, he had work to do.  The solution of slipperiness took some doing to make and he must have a perfect specimen to demonstrate to that insufferable elf.  Arrogant pixie, foolishly believing that he had a greater storehouse of skills than did someone obviously his superior!  Though… there _was_ value in larcenous talents and he could certainly see how adding those to his own repertoire would be beneficial.  Regardless, it would not be amiss to have ready not only the potion of immeasurable slickness, but a few other with which to cow the thuggish elf.  Show him his place.  Which was so far down the ladder of social consequence that if the toymaker looked skyward he would not be able to see the bottom of _his_ finely-crafted boots.

Then, perhaps, they might find an experiment to conduct together.  He had never been given the opportunity to study an elf and, if the diminutive terror was amenable, they could devote some time to a research pursuit.  The staff surely knew the type of refreshments preferred by that particular species to keep the homunculus fed and placid.  No, best determine that in advance as the staff was human and their level of knowledge approached that of sack of wheat.  If they needed time to fully investigate the situation, then he would be magnanimous and gift it to them.  The very last thing he needed in his day was a shrieking imp complaining about his evening restorative…

__________

It was just a house.  Maybe it was a _big_ house, but it was a house.  He’d seen it before, but… didn’t really think about people living in it.  Working, sure… but living?  Didn’t matter, though, because teeny fangs wasn’t any better than he was just because he lived in a big castle and _he_ lived in a stupid cottage with plants and flowers and a big dumb owl that lived in the tree outside his bedroom window and who had to be bribed weekly with meat or the evil thing would hoot every time he tried to sneak out at night.  There were probably _lots_ of owls living around here, too, so teeny fangs would have a miserable time trying to sneak out to do anything fun.  Or maybe he just spent a lot of money on owl food…

John walked the rest of the way to the main door of the Holmes family residence and started swearing because the door knocker was too high above his head to reach, even with jumping.  While looking for something to stand on, he nearly leapt out of his skin when the door creaked open and it was only the fact that a familiar face peered out that he didn’t throw something in self-defense.

      “Ah, John.  Welcome to our home.  I had Sherlock lay a spell upon the threshold to notify us of your presence as… well, we do not see many elves visit us, at least through the main entrance.  Do come in.”

      “Did you just call me short?”

      “Did we not already discuss your tendency to leap to conclusion on the issue of insults?”

      “I’m watching you, vampire.”

      “Good, else you will not know where to go to find Sherlock.  This way, please.”

John made a myriad of faces behind Mycroft’s back and one stuck forcefully when he saw a vision of loveliness cross their paths.

      “Ah, Mummy.  This is John, the young elf we spoke of at breakfast.”

Glistening, gleaming loveliness… diamonds and gold everywhere!

      “It is good to meet you, John.  I am grateful that you agreed to assist us with our problem.”

      “Oh, it’s my pleasure, ma’am.”

Mycroft sighed wearily, as John took his mother’s hand to kiss, then barked out a laugh when his mother slapped the elf sharply on the back, dislodging the ring and bracelet that were in his mouth.

      “That’s assault!”

      “It shall be murder if I find any further evidence of nefarious behavior, young man.  Mrs. Hudson has told me where to find your mother and she and I will have a talk if I find a single piece of my jewelry missing.”

      “That’s not fair!”

      “And do not believe for an instant that my edict is specific to jewels alone.  One does not steal from one’s employers, lest he finds himself without wage and disgraced to the point of inability to find another, with a very reddened and painful bottom, as a special parting gift.”

John’s pout was one to rival Sherlock’s and Mummy Holmes found herself immediately endeared to the little troublemaker.  Mycroft was quite right… an alliance between Sherlock and John would likely bring about the end of the world, but wouldn’t it be a delight to watch…

      “Fine!  Nobody ever lets me have any fun.”

      “I am certain my sons will find _many_ enjoyable things to help you pass the time.  Now, I must be off to my gardens.  Is there anything you wish me to know before I depart, John?”

The little elf squirmed under the maternal glare and reached into his pocket to extract her broach, which was handed over with a complete lack of eye contact.

      “Very good.  Enjoy your evening, boys.  And John, please consider yourself welcome to visit Sherlock at any time.  Our house is happy to host you.”

This invitation had _Mycroft_ squirming, especially when he caught the almost-invisible gleam in John’s eye.  Dastardly woman… she was not the one who would have to chaperone these unholy gatherings…

      “Now, may we agree that the remainder of your visit shall not see more of my family’s possessions added to your pockets?”

      “It’s not my fault if something falls into my pockets!”

Said with pockets held out wide to emphasize their expansive volume and diameter of entrance.

      “Our candlesticks are not known for their tendency to leap from their perches and into the waiting trousers of a passerby.”

      “Strange things happen.”

      “Yes… and strange things visit, too.”

John’s indignant squawk was cut off by the quick shove Mycroft gave him in the direction of Sherlock’s lab and he continued to prod the boy forward until they reached the reinforced door of Sherlock’s domain.

      “Ah, pixie.  You are… mostly… on time.”

      “You don’t even know how to tell time, teeny fangs.”

The shared scowl was not nearly enough to convince Mycroft that this visit was not going to end in a deluge of his very precious tears.  A pair of blackened eyes would have been a far more encouraging thing, though Mummy surely would not approve and sentence him to being her gardening partner for the next decade or so.

      “How ebullient are your greetings.  Verily, I predict a friendship for the ages shall be formed between the two of you.  Until that time, however, kindly keep your blows to below-lethal force and apply no strikes to the face, which would attract motherly attention and leave all of us in a far worse state than we can possibly imagine.”

With the ground rules set, Mycroft took a seat at one of Sherlock’s work tables and cleared a space to set down the correspondence he was carrying so he could actually use the time productively, between rounds of refereeing the various skirmishes and all-out wars that were undoubtedly going to erupt in his future.

      “You have to live with that?  What an annoyance.”

      “Mycroft is the exemplar to which they hold other annoyances to measure how far from perfection they fall.”

      “That makes sense.  So, you got that slippery stuff?”

Sherlock nodded and motioned John to follow him, congratulating himself for failing to comment on the several tries it took John to climb on his stool so they could sit and examine the testing materials.

      “This is my unique formula.  Here… I shall apply it to this wooden bowl.  Try now to lift it.”

John made to grab the bowl and swore when it slipped out of his hands and bounced onto the floor.

      “That’s pretty good.  What else can we test?”

Several items of different materials, textures, shapes and weights were each tested in turn and John had to admit this was much better than he’d expected.  Actually, it was pretty amazing.

      “Yeah, ok.  It works alright, I guess.”

      “You are pitiful.  If you believe you are hiding your amazement at my accomplishment, you are sadly mistaken.”

      “I’m surprised you can walk upright carrying that ego of yours which has to weigh as much as an oak tree.”

      “And precisely what _does_ an oak tree weigh?”

      “Why don’t you tell me, Mr. I Know Everything?”

      “Deflection, how boring.”

      “Weak, Sherlock.  And obvious.  Did you bring a ring to test?”

      “I am nothing if not fully committed to proper experimental protocol.”

      “Does that mean yes?”

      “It means yes.”

      “Ok, then.  Let’s give it a try.”

John hopped off his stool and Mycroft hid his smile that Sherlock quickly provided a steadying hand as the elf landed slightly off balance.

      “Is that a loose or tight ring?”

      “I brought one of each, actually.”

      “Oh.  Well, that was smart.  Put the loose one on and I’ll show you how easy it is to steal.”

The older Holmes brother debated putting a stop to the demonstration, but decided if John didn’t do it now, he _would_ at some point and… well, it was always handy to learn new skills.  Mycroft watched Sherlock slip on the ring and then John take a few steps back before strolling forward and lightly bumping the young vampire, who promptly lost his property.

      “See?”

      “Ah… I must confess that I did not notice the ring being removed.”

      “You gotta bump just right so the ring starts to slide and then you just help it along a little or, if it’s really loose, be there to catch it when it falls.  Most rings aren’t that loose, though, but you can still get them off if you’re willing to interact a bit more.”

      “Explain.”

      “Shake hands, fall and get some help up, knock _them_ down and help them up… there’s more chance they’ll feel what’s going on, though, and if this Magnussen is as cagey as you say, he’s probably one of the ones that notices everything.  Of course, there’s always the grab it and run like a wolf is behind you and you have a rabbit in your pants, but that might be too obvious.  And I’ve got to swap it, too, which is a miserable nuisance.”

      “I doubt that any of the options you mentioned would be very successful for swapping the ring.”

      “No, that’s not true.  All I have to do is let the ring fall and pick it back up again to return to its rightful owner, like a good little a law-abiding citizen.  But if it’s tight on his finger, he’ll feel me pull it off and know something’s wrong.  Put the tight one on and I’ll show you.”

Sherlock did as he was told, with a surprising lack of fuss, and John repeated his actions.

      “Yes, that was far more noticeable.”

      “And your hand was relaxed and open.  Some people keep their hands partly or fully closed when they walk which is a complete bastard.”

      “Language, John.”

      “Go read your love letters, vampire.”

If only they _were_ love letters… his Gregory would certainly compose a missive of the most inspiring passion.

      “Ignore Fatcroft, John.  Already he is daydreaming about his husband, the transient, and shall be insentient for the remainder of the night.”

      “Good.  I don’t have time for his nannying.  Ok, now slip on some of that slippery stuff and let’s see how easy this will go.”

Sherlock replaced the ring, then put a few drops of his concoction on his finger and John tried again to steal it.

      “That was a lot easier.”

      “And I was far less aware that anything had occurred.  However… my potion has a noticeable cooling effect on the skin.  I did not realize until now how one might notice it was upon the skin.”

      “How bad?”

      “Not enough that it would be remarked upon in a havoc-ridden situation, but for a casual stroll, I suspect it would catch one’s attention.”

      “Shite.”

      “John!”

      “Get on with your daydreams, nanny.”

      “Why do you not make another nude drawing of Lestrade, Mycroft?  That should keep you occupied while John and I attend to business.”

      “That’s perverted.  Your brother’s got problems in that head of his.”

      “I agree.  Mycroft is an unabashed pervert and has subjected me many times to amorous displays with his not-yet spouse.”

      “Neither of you understand the nature of true love and the joys of its physical or artistic expression.”

      “Good.  I can do without that as easily as I can vomiting myself to death, pervert vampire.

      “And, again, I agree.  All of that nonsense is for lesser beings.  Now, how is our plan compromised by this new information?”

      “That your brother is a pervert?”

      “No, that can easily be factored out.  I meant the discernible effects of my potion?”

      “Oh yeah… well, there’s still the idea of creating a distraction.  I can find someone to make a fuss and get the ring then.  The swap’s still the hard part, though.  Stealing is easy.  This swapping thing is hard.”

      “Then I assume our only option shall be while the villain sleeps.”

      “Probably.  I’m still going to watch him for a day or so, though.  Might notice something in his habits that’s going to make this easier.

      “ _We_ shall watch him for a day or so.  My observational skills are without equal.”

      “First, you’re wrong.  Second, you’re delusional.  Third, you don’t even know what to look for.”

      “Fourth, Sherlock, you are instantly recognizable to Magnussen and would be found out in a trice.”

      “Silence, libido slave!  I am a master of camouflaging my appearance.  The ne’er-do-well shall never glean my identity.”

      “No.”

      “Hey!  You don’t own Sherlock.”

Mycroft wondered how much of an elf uprising would commence if he returned John to their fold with the finger currently pointed at him wedged into the horrid creature’s sewn shut mouth.  They had very few dealings with the elf race, but one must always keep an eye towards the future, he supposed, so the child would live to point another day.

      “No, but I represent the ones who might have _some_ claim to that title and I am vetoing his participation in your scheme.”

      “I am a free agent and I shall do as I please!”

      “What you shall do will be very little if Father confiscates the entirety of your laboratory equipment.”

      “He would only do so if a traitorous teller of tales informed him of my actions.”

      “Yeah!  You’d be a filthy traitor and you know what happens to them.  They get hung from a high tree, that’s what.”

      “Well, that would be dreadfully dull, as I might have to wait a few hours for a decent soul to wander by and cut me down.”

      “Really?  I mean… you won’t be so smug when you’re hanging there with a fence post shoved up your…”

      “THANK YOU, John.  As always, your use of descriptive language is masterful.  And Sherlock, do stifle your unseemly guffaws, else you might find something flying into your gaping maw that would happily make its home in there no matter how vigorously you tried to dislodge it.”

Perhaps he _should_ begin a sketch of Gregory’s ungarmented beauty.  It would certainly be something to hold up as a shield when the small, foul spirits currently glaring at him began another accursed haunting.

      “Now, if the limits of effectiveness of Sherlock’s formulation have been defined, perhaps it is time for you to take your payment advance and…”

      “I leave when I want to!  Besides… teeny fangs and I need to… try a few more ideas.  He’s got to lay down so I can see how much of a difference that makes, for instance and… other important things.”

Sherlock’s forceful nodding felt like the hammer driving a stake into Mycroft’s heart, but… it was so very rare that Sherlock was able to interact with beings in his physical age group.  And rarer still that those interactions did not send the other child away in tears.  A small amount of time to continue their rather fractious companionship would not be overly burdensome and might widen the gulf between them so kind regard never had the chance to grow, which would suit _him_ very, very nicely.

      “I suppose extending the duration of your visit would not pose too great a disruption to the day’s business.”

      “Your ceaseless grubbing for lucre concerns neither John nor I.  Go about your tedious business and leave us alone to our own pursuits.”

      “I am equally well capable of grubbing at this jaunty table as in any other location.  Consider my presence a fixture, though, one that will leave you to your own devices, so long as those devices do not threaten the well-being of any member of the family or staff, imperil the structural integrity of the house or leave us in a far-reduced financial state that we were before our guest arrived.  Now, do go on… I am certain John must return home at some point and I am certain you do not wish to waste a moment of your time together.”

A colony of asps would be quite envious of the synchronized hisses, however, he was maximally inured to the sound of wrathful displeasure from irritated children.  With a lifetime’s exposure, how could he be anything less?

__________

 He was in agony!  Was this dreadful visit ever going to end?  He had never seen Sherlock so willing to associate with another individual… to the point of offering refreshments!  His brother had grown a sprout of manners for the occasion!  This was a disaster!  And the hurling of insulting names had dwindled to the merest trickle…

      “So, I’m going to come back tomorrow and you can show me that spell for talking to ghosts.  I run into a few now and then and I just know they know where to find all sorts of valuable things, but I can’t talk to them!”

      “Yes, I admit that I have never used my spell on any but the household’s standard retinue of specters and they are as boring as Mycroft and divulge no information of any interest whatsoever.”

An unmitigated disaster…

      “Yes, well… thank you for your time, John.  I have no doubt your parents would greatly enjoy seeing you home at some point before dawn.”

      “They don’t know I’m here.  I’m paid up with that blackmailing owl, so I’m good for now. Anyway, it’s your turn to give up some payment, vampire.  Don’t tell me you don’t have it, either, because I know that’s a lie.”

      "I most certainly have your initial wage and you shall receive it upon your departure.  And, of course, if it is a hardship to revisit our happy home, kindly do not overtax yourself by doing so.”

      “Good try, vampire.  Sherlock, I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

      “I shall have the materials prepared for the incantation.  Shall we say… just after sunset?”

      “Yeah, I can do that.  Come on, vampire, show me the way out of here and give me my money.”

The elf began marching out of Sherlock’s lab after one final, and worrying, knowing grin at the young Holmes and Mycroft hoped there was a barrel of wine in the cellar that was seeking a quick and painless death because it was surely on its way.

__________

      “Oh, that sounds lovely.”

Mummy had obviously spent too much time in the fresh air and moonlight.

      “Lovely is not the word I would choose.”

      “That’s because you’re a fuddy-duddy sometimes, Mycroft dear.  It sounds, to me, as if your brother had a wonderful time with his new friend.”

      “Friend is _also_ not the world I would choose.”

      “Oh, behave, Mycroft.  Your brother spends an entire night with a playmate… you should be excited for him!”

      “If you were there to witness their so-called play, you would not be quivering with excitement, but for an entirely different reason altogether.”

      “Well, I think it is a very encouraging thing.  Sherlock is such a unique child… it only stands to reason that he would need to find another unique child for a bond to be forged.”

      “Mummy, please do not speak of bonds, in association with Sherlock and John.  They are tiresome enough singly, let alone as an amalgam.”

      “And you say John is returning tomorrow?  Excellent.  Perhaps he shall share breakfast with us.”

      “Have you taken a disliking to the silverware and hope that he will abscond with enough so that Father will have no choice but to replace our stocks with a different pattern?”

      “See?  You _do_ have a sense of humor when you try.  And won’t John be delighted with the space Sherlock shall receive in your new home?  Such a vast expanse for their own private kingdom to make merry.”

      “I am informing the workmen to fill in the cellars with the thickest and most firm-setting mud in existence.”

      “Silly boy.  Now, I believe your Father had some matters he wished to discuss with you.  Unless you are considering visiting Gregory?”

The healing his tortured soul would experience would be a blessed thing, but his love would still be sleeping and it would be selfish to wake him.  However, when the sun set tomorrow, his love should expect a discombobulated and disheveled spouse to appear with a tearful plea for comfort.

      “My husband needs his rest and I shall not deny him.”

      “Very good.  Then, if I do not see you before I retire, sleep well, my son.”

      “You, also, Mummy.”

Mycroft watched his mother walk away and reminded himself that she _was_ a mother and, as such, could be forgiven her clouded thinking on the subject of her youngest son and the potentially burgeoning friendship with the most inappropriate companion in the history of collegial associations.  Of course, looking from the outside in, Sherlock might easily be described in a very similar manner.  Which is why he needed his husband at his side and not locked away where he could not indulge in warm arms and soft, supportive kisses.  Hopefully, this distasteful business would soon be over and he could return his spouse to his rightful place by his side and in his bed.  And he would have a truly breathtaking sword fashioned for Gregory to wield as he helped repel the pest infestation that was threatening to overrun the household…

__________

How convenient.  Mycroft was away making besotted eyes at his husband and Mummy found it quite amusing to escort John to his laboratory herself.  Which meant she could act as witness if their continued presence in the house was called into question.

      “Your report.”

      “You don’t pay me, so don’t talk like I work for you.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but decided it would not detract from his status to adopt a slightly different approach with the elf.

      “Very well.  Did you discover anything of note today, by chance?”

      “Yeah, and it’s not good.  I watched him all day and, first, he’s a snake.  You can see it in his smile… just waiting for you to turn your back so he can strike.  Second, that ring is on his finger good and snug.  It doesn’t slide or twist on his finger when he moves his hand and he doesn’t walk with his hand dangling like most people do.  He’s more… cautious about how he moves.  Like he knows every single motion he makes and it’s all planned.  I’m not going to get it off him in the street or when he sits down to eat.  It’s going to have to be after he goes to sleep.”

      “Then we need to investigate his room at the inn and, if possible, the man himself while he slumbers.”

      “That’s what I was thinking.  We can go to the inn tonight and check things out.”

      “My thought exactly.  I shall have a carriage prepared for our use.”

      “Won’t that brother of yours find out?”

Ah… yes, there was that…

      “Possibly.  Though I could attempt to bribe the stable master into silence.”

      “You have money?”

      “I am provided with an allowance, though, it is a pittance, in my opinion.”

      “Enough for a bribe?”

      “The stable master is a human and, therefore, poor and stupid.  If I offered him a fresh apple, he would lay down his life for me.”

      “Yeah… no.  Humans aren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer, but they’re not _that_ dumb.  Aren’t you supposed to be able to fly?”

      “Of course!  I am highly accomplished at flying in bat form.”

      “Then we’ll get to the village the same way I got here.  You’ll give me a ride.”

It was almost unheard of for Sherlock to be taken aback by (a) surprise and (b) confusion, but he could now, unfortunately, claim a substantial mark against him.

      “You speak nonsense as fluently as Mycroft speaks the language of pastries.”

      “Well, I don’t know about that, but I bought a ride with a hawk to get here, so if you’re ‘highly accomplished’ you should be able to carry me, too.”

      “You are truly insane.  No member of the avian community could manage a creature of your size.”

Which was suddenly not nearly as… sizeable… as a moment before.  Sherlock stared down at the tiny form standing in front of him, who was about the height _of_ a fresh apple.

      “You… you are miniscule.”

      “Yeah, I know.  Elf, remember?  If this is too big for you, I can shrink smaller, but it’s hard and I can’t hold it for long, so you’ll have to fly fast.”

Sherlock thought a moment, then took bat form and stood next to the elf.

      “Yeah, I’ll have to go to my limit.  Will it take you long to get us there?”

      “No, it is a fairly modest flight and one I have covered rapidly with some frequency, of late.”

      “Ok, then.”

John closed his eyes and shrank even smaller, then climbed onto Sherlock’s back and grabbed onto the fur around the bat’s neck.

      “No funny stuff, though.  Flips or dives.  I land in a lake or something, I’m going to pound you until someone could drink you out of a mug.”

      “Your threats are pitiful, given you are the size of two ripe olives laid end on end.”

      “Fly, you bastardy bat.  And, remember… I’m watching you.”

      “No, you are yanking out my fur by the handful, but it _is_ best we depart.”

With no further preamble, the small bat flew out of the open window and took to the skies, flying as fast as he could towards the town.  In truth, this was not an unreasonable arrangement and could be highly useful in the future.  _If_ John and he continued their association, of course.  Which was something to which he might not object.  Maybe.  It bore consideration, at least.  To some degree.  Fortunately, he would have time to think as they still had several very important experiments to conduct and John would surely wish to continue visiting to witness their outcome.  And then… yes, time to think.  Always a good thing…


	20. Chapter 20

      “Spare, but it has the basic amenities, I suppose.”

Sherlock and John peered through the window of Magnussen’s room at the inn, which, being on the upper floor, meant what a passerby would notice would be a dark-furred bat perched on the window sill holding out it’s wing, apparently for stability.  What they _wouldn’t_ see was the wing hiding the small elf who was also looking into the room and with great interest.

      “Yeah, not much to steal.  At least not from what we can see now.  Once I’m inside…”

      “You shall not steal anything other than the ring or it will arouse suspicion and our initiative will meet with failure.  For that, you will not receive your fee, which is surely higher than the value of anything you might find during your larcenous activities.”

      “That’s no fun.  But, you’re probably right.  An extra coin or two here or there isn’t worth it.  Besides, if I do a good job, your brother might hire me again and that can mean real money.  Now, give me a… no, you can’t give me a hand, can you.  Ok, hold on a minute…”

John pulled, pushed and pried with all his might, but couldn’t get the window open, even a crack.

      “You are weak as water.”

      “No!  This stupid window is heavy and it’s been rainy, so the wood is swollen.  It would have helped if I could, though, because I could have climbed up and down fairly easily on the outside of the building.  Now, it’s going to be having to find mouse tunnels or see if I can get the door to the room open.”

      “Will that increase the likelihood of discovery?”

      “Maybe, yeah.  The innkeeper doesn’t like me, anyway, so if he sees me, he’ll probably apply his boot to my bum and land me on the other side of the street.”

      “Hmmm…. Ah!  My potion!  It might enhance the slipperiness of the window in its frame and allow you an easier time with its shifting.”

      “That’s not a bad idea.  We can try that next time.  Or… can you do something to make the room extra warm or smoky, so he’ll have to open the window when he sleeps?”

      “Yes… yes, there are several methods by which either might be accomplished and they are not difficult to enact.”

      “Ok, then a window entry is back as the best option.  Shimmy up, make the swap, shimmy down.  Clean… that’s how I like it.”

      “Of course, you have omitted _all_ of the relevant and difficult details.”

      “Hey!  Try being encouraging for once.”

      “When it is warranted, I shall.”

John’s rude noise came as no surprise to Sherlock, who kindly decided not to test if the elf could bounce if dropped from their height.

      “Now, what else should be examined before we are ready to commence?”

      “The room.  I’d actually like to get in there and check for loose boards or anything else that might make noise while I’m moving around.  Also… I doubt there are rats or anything, but it’s good to check for signs.  A mouse isn’t a problem, but a rat is a completely different issue when I’m this size.”

      “Ah.  Yes, I can see where an issue might arise.  I suppose we cannot carry on that inspection now, however.”

      “Not with the snake sleeping in the same room, no.  I can sneak back tomorrow, though, and check it out if I’m careful to avoid the innkeeper.  Maybe I can bring some of your slippery stuff and test it to see how much of a help it will be.”

      “I shall send you home with a sample.  Is there anything else to investigate?”

      “Hold on…”

John peered through the window and looked at as much of the room as he could.

      “Your friend sleeps under blankets, even in summer apparently, so that’s a complication.  He doesn’t move much, though, and that’s to our favor.  Let me try something.  Get ready to hide…”

John rapped on the window and dropped so only his eyes peered above the bottom of the window frame.  Sherlock flew and hovered around the side of the window out of sight, glaring at John for the extremely short warning.

      “Shite.  Snake’s not going to make this easy at all, is he?”

      “Explain?”

      “Sherlock clung to the side of the building and looked down at the elf who was now reclining on the sill.

      “Light sleeper.”

      “Oh.  Yes, that _is_ a problem.”

      “Any chance you can do something about that?”

      “About… ah.  Yes… perhaps something to enhance sleep slipped into his evening meal.  That is certainly possible.”

      “Good, because I think we might need it.”

      “It cannot be too potent, however, for the aftereffects would be quite noticeable and…”

      “We’d fail.  Yeah, I know.”

      “I believe it might behoove us to pay a visit to Mrs. Hudson.  Despite her ridiculous notions and views on proper behavior, she _is_ knowledgeable about such things and has been useful once or twice in the past.”

      “That’s a good idea.  And her shop’s not far.”

John peered into the bedroom again and, after determining that Magnussen had gone back to sleep… or, at least, turned away from the window… motioned Sherlock to perch so he could shrink down again for a ride, which didn’t last long since Sherlock flew at top speed towards the little shop, for most certainly not the reason that John appeared fatigued after their last flight here and he wished to spare the elf as much distress as possible.  And, as always, the shop seemed open to receive customers.

      “Well, look who’s here.  Out making trouble, are we?”

The witch weathered the twin glares of the small boys and waved them into the shop, retrieving two slices of cake to hand to her visitors.

      “Here, eat that.  You both look like you’ve actually done some work for a change.”

      “John and I are supremely industrious!  We have worked tirelessly to see Lestrade released from his false imprisonment, and achieved far more than my blubberous brother has accomplished.”

Oh, yes.  Mycroft was right to worry.  Look at the two wee things nodding proudly and standing side by side without throwing a single punch.  Already becoming fast friends.  Life was definitely going to get interesting very soon…

      “Enough of that, you evil thing.  Your brother’s draining himself dry trying to help his husband and you don’t say rude things about him or you won’t get what you came here to ask for.”

      “Hey!  Who says we want anything from you?”

      “Neither of you miserable boys visits me for any other reason, now do you?”

At least the miscreants had the good sense to look guilty.

      “The existence of a pattern does not preclude a future aberrant data point!”

      “You’ve been reading those fancy books again, haven’t you, lad?”

      “Mathematics is not fancy!  It is a critical skill and immeasurable valuable for quantifying my spells!  A pinch of this… stir softly… the lack of precision and easily-repeatable methods are two of the main reasons for the stagnation of magical theory.  The other, of course, being the stupidity and incompetence of the practitioners.”

      “Magic is an art, Sherlock, and don’t you forget that.”

Sherlock’s incredulous snort was seconded by John and Mrs. Hudson mentally girded her loins for the oncoming storm of the little bastard alliance.  Though… it was nice to see the boys actually doing something with another child.  Each one of them, though they’d never admit even if you pulled out their teeth, was lonely and having a friend would help to change that.  If only the ones around them didn’t have to caught in the resulting explosion…

      “I shall give your opinion on the issue all the credence it is due.  Now, we have matters of the greatest import to discuss.  And John requires more cake.  He has overexerted his miniscule form and depleted his reserves of energy.”

John’s protest was cut off before it began because… cake… and he added his support to the demand with a firm nod and a hand laid pitifully on his sucked-in stomach.  Fortunately, the witch was quite fond of a bit of theater.

      “Alright, you can have more cake and some nice sugary tea to wash it down.  Come on and have a seat so we can talk.”

Mrs. Hudson led the two boys to the little nook at the back of the shop and got them settled before the discussion began, one that, she had to admit, was very helpful, indeed.

      “Sounds like you two _did_ do a lot the past two days.  Greg will be very grateful for it, I’m sure.  And I have a few ideas to help that horrid man sleep a little more soundly.  You leave that to me and I’ll make just the thing so he won’t feel drugged afterwards and arouse suspicion.  As for getting him to leave the window open…  Sherlock, you probably have something that will work for that.  You’re good at making people uncomfortable.”

      “You are attempting a jest, but, inadvertently, have latched onto the truth.  I have in my repertoire several spells to accomplish the task.  I shall experiment further to determine the one best suited to our needs, should it become necessary to implement that particular tactic.”

      “We’re going to try unsticking the window first.  It’s easier.  And I’ve got to give the room a thorough look around before we do anything.  I’m going to see what I can do about that tomorrow.”

      “Good to see you two working together so well.  Such a nice bit of teamwork.”

That part said to rile the feathers of the bird that had just joined them, sporting the look he only carried when he was with, just with, or about to be with his new husband.

      “Oh no, Mycroft is here.  Can this night get any worse?”

John patted Sherlock on the shoulder and gave Mycroft a glare that the older Holmes promptly countered with the flagrant theft of John’s newest slice of cake.  The scandalized gasp alone made the vampire’s night.

      “He stole my cake!  That’s not fair!”

      “Hypocrisy does not flatter you, John.  And good evening, Mrs. Hudson.  How are you this fine night?”

Definitely just come from seeing his husband.  That was the most contented smile a man could sport.

      “I’m doing well, son, thank you.  Just keeping the town safe by keeping these two out of it.”

      “Very civic-minded of you.  If you choose to uptake the job on a permanent basis, I am certain Father would provide you with a handsome salary for your efforts.”

      “There’s not enough gold in the world for me to child mind these two whirlwinds, but I’m willing to lend my spanking hand whenever it might be useful.”

      “Excellent.  And to what do you owe the pleasure of their company?”

      “Hey!  We’re right here, so stop talking about Sherlock and me like we’re invisible.”

      “No, my luck certainly is not that robust.  Very well, I shall pose to you my inquiry.”

      “Huh?”

      “Stop confusing John!  And, to satisfy your meddlesome nature, John and I have been making gargantuan strides towards freeing your pet transient.”

Sherlock’s remaining cake was confiscated as penalty for his insult and Mycroft suffered the in-chorus indignation as happily indulged in his new morsel of treat.

      “That’s what you get for that mouth of yours, Sherlock.  A lesson you can learn, too, John.  Now, tell Mycroft what you discovered and I’ll see if I have anything else to fill those empty bellies.”

While Mrs. Hudson pulled down some bread and honey, Sherlock and John scowled, but told Mycroft their observations and conclusions, much to the vampire’s interest.

      “I commend you both for your hard work and very effective use of time.  This is valuable information and I am impressed that you have made such strides in so short a time.  And, behold!  Your edible reward has appeared!”

Another scowl greeted Mycroft, along with each boy slightly hunching over their new snack to protect it from being snatched away, but there was a pleased light in Sherlock and John’s eyes that made both Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson grin.

      “Though… I must issue a reprimand because I have no doubt that the two of you left the house with no notice to anyone and that is not something that can be allowed.  I shall not be so dictatorial as to forbid a leaving of the property when I am not at home, but I must insist I know your whereabouts if you do choose to make a journey past the threshold.  I will not alert Mummy and Father this time, but if it happens again, I will have no choice and they will not be pleased.  Your welfare is of extreme concern and that cannot be safeguarded if you are somewhere you cannot be found.”

      “You don’t own us!”

      “This again... No, I do not hold the deed and in your case, John, I am eternally grateful for it, however, that does not discharge my responsibilities.  Just a word in my ear, or even that of Cook, to pass along to me if I am immediately unavailable, will be sufficient.”

      “I feel as if I am being smothered.  This must be what Lestrade endures when he struggles to support your vast bulk during your attempts at lovemaking.”

Sherlock wisely shoveled the remainder of his bread and honey into his mouth because not even an irritated Mycroft was sufficiently brave to risk amputation by reaching in to drag it back out with the hand that was quickly moving towards Sherlock’s now-empty plate.

      “One day your tongue might have an unfortunate encounter with very sharp blade, brother.”

      “You’ll give it to me, won’t you Mycroft, dear?  There are some wonderfully interesting spells you can work if you have a fresh demon tongue and I come across those so rarely.”

Sherlock scowled ferociously, then began fanning the air in front of his face.

      “The atmosphere in here has become foul and putrid.  Do you agree, John?”

John started fanning, too, making certain not to hit the hand that was holding his precious bread and honey.

      “I can barely breathe and when I do I wish I hadn’t.”

      “Precisely.  We must flee.”

And by fleeing, Sherlock meant perusing the witch’s shop while listing the items that Mycroft must purchase for him as penalty for the being the most potent source of putrescence, and John adding things to the list that he thought might be useful, if not now, then at some point in the future.  But, as the glacially-slow fleeing moved steadily towards the door, neither boy could send Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson back to enjoy a cup of tea and had to suffer the cooing and awwwing as they assumed the proper forms and prepared to depart, leaving Sherlock to wish his cake had already digested so he could eliminate his disgust on his brother’s head as he and John flew off towards home.

      “Are you as scared as I am, Mycroft?”

      “Terrified, Mrs. Hudson.  They are becoming… friends.”

      “Yes… yes they are.  I don’t think there’s any doubt about that.  One’s skilled in thieving and the other’s skilled in magic.  That’s a disastrous combination.”

      “You know… Father does own property in quite a number of locations that are incredibly distant from here.  Some in areas known for their pleasant year-round climate and hospitable people.  Gregory would surely adore relocating to home in such an agreeable place.”

      “Oh, no you don’t.  You’re not leaving me here alone with those two.  If I have to deal with them, so do you.  Don’t get any ideas about sneaking off or your new residence will be a small pail on its side in my garden to keep the sun off your froggy skin.”

      “Gregory would make a truly handsome frog.  A swarthy brown one with very muscular jumping legs.”

The witch just shook her head and marveled at the effects of true love, before plucking Mycroft’s shirtsleeve and tugging him into the shop.  He had purchases to make and they could catch up on the news of which there was a piece she’d held back from the boys, but Mycroft needed to hear it.  No matter how hard it might be to bear…

__________

      “The courier is that close?”

      “The birds say two days, no more.  If it’s any help, I did a little divination and I’m not getting any upsetting feelings off the news, so fingers crossed the messenger brings word that Greg’s trial will take place here.  I do think I would know if it were different, dear, so you can take what comfort you can from that.”

Mycroft sighed deeply and closed his eyes to help focus on pushing down the emotions that threatened to burst out of his chest.  He had confidence in Mrs. Hudson’s prophecy, but the moment the messenger arrived, the trial date would be set and it would be set _soon_ , there was little question.  There was such great interest in the matter that it would not be allowed to sit idle once it was known that action could proceed.  His Gregory could see his trial begin in a week’s time, potentially, and that was freezing his core to a solid mass.

      “Your dad has some say in the matter, too, so he can help slow things down if we need more time to gather… facts.”

      “He can, but he will be reluctant to interfere in any manner, lest he be seen as attempting to bias the process.  However, Father _is_ a very good negotiator and if anyone could make the magistrates see the logic and legal equity of a delay, it _would_ be him.  I shall speak to him of this straight away and… inform Sherlock and John.  We must act quickly.”

      “As soon as I get the ring I can get to work.  But…”

      “Yes, I know… it might provide us with nothing useful.”

      “Exactly.”

      “We have debated bringing witnesses from Gregory’s home to speak on his character and who have knowledge of his true family situation and its lack of venom, as described by Magnussen.  Perhaps it is time to set that in motion.  Father dispatched representatives in anticipation of our needs and it will take only a quickly-delivered message to set them in motion.”

      “I know a few lovelies who wouldn’t mind helping, for the right price.”

      “Are they swift?”

      “If not, then they’re badly misnamed.”

      “Ah.  I see.  Very good.  Then, I shall make my way home and begin my discussions.”

      “I’ll put Sherlock and John’s shopping aside for them to collect later.  I suspect I’ll see them soon and it’ll be fun to watch them argue about how to get it all home.”

      “I suppose we should take what entertainment we can from their association.”

      “It’s really the most we can hope for.”

      “Well… we _could_ hope for a large cat with a voracious appetite.”

      “True.  They’d make good cat nibbles, that’s for certain.  I’ll ask around.”

      “Excellent.  I shall pick my mourning clothes.  I believe a mature grey will be most appropriate.”

      “Grey does flatter your complexion.”

      “Perfect.  One should look one’s best for one’s brother’s funeral, even if the body cannot be easily retrieved.”

__________

After Sherlock and John left the shop, Sherlock flew a few moments towards home, then veered off course anticipating the squawk from his passenger.

      “Hey!  Where are we going?”

      “I wish to ascertain something.”

Sherlock flew a little while longer, then descended to perch on the window ledge of Lestrade’s jail cell.  Peering inside, the little bat saw his brother-in-law was still awake and wiggled to signal John to disembark and grow to his slightly larger size.

      “I believe we can both make our way through the bars, can we not?”

The two stepped through and Sherlock kicked a small, stray twig from the window onto Lestrade’s head.

      “What the… Sherlock!  Well, I think it’s you because you’re teeny and pouty, which is a right feat for a little bat.  And… is this your friend John?”

Lestrade smiled broadly at his visitors and was happy he hadn’t just packed it in when Mycroft left, but decided to read awhile instead.  Sherlock brought his new friend along for a visit.  This was a very special occasion…

      “You think I’m an elf just because I’m small?  That’s offensive!”

Just as pugnacious as Mycroft described.  That would be good for Sherlock, even if his husband had a completely different opinion on the subject.

      “No, I think you’re an elf because you’re with that one and the only person he knows besides me and Mycroft is you. That, and those little pointy ears of yours.”

      “Oh.”

      “That is a lie!  I know the house staff, Mrs. Hudson, Mummy, Father and… a myriad of interesting and sophisticated individuals who, though they do not match my intellect or magical prowess, are persons of quality, nonetheless.”

      “Did that last bit, the completely untrue part, leave a bad taste in your mouth?”

      “I admit it was not as fulfilling a declaration as I had hoped.”

      “Good lad.  So, John… how do you like my cell?  I’ve got the nice one, actually.  A bit bigger than the other few and my window has such a lovely view.”

John snorted, but couldn’t hide from Lestrade that he was giving the cell a thorough inspection.  It may… _may_ … have crossed his mind now and again that he might spend time in one of these someday and, seeing one up close… it didn’t look like much fun.

      “I’m lucky, too, since Mycroft brings me books to read and… more books to read.  Not much else to do, but I do get to carve a little.  How do you like my rabbit?”

Lestrade reached down to grab the small figure from the floor and laughed at the expected lack of positive reaction.

      “I have seen dung that was more representative of a rabbit.”

      “That’s awful.  Do your eyes even work?”

      “It’s early on, yet.  Just getting started. You watch… give me another week and you’ll say something different.”

      “Undoubtedly.  I shall say it is even more abominable than it is now.”

      “Something to look forward to, then.  So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

John looked at Sherlock, who scowled and huffed in annoyance.

      “We are here to report on our progress and, further, to ascertain how simple a task it would be to steal the key to your cell so that you might liberate yourself should it become necessary to flee a potential miscarriage of justice.”

John’s eyes lit up and motioned Lestrade to lean back so he could use his head as the start of a ladder to bring him onto the bed.  It was then a quick kick to the prisoner’s knee to convince Lestrade to lend a hand getting him the rest of the way to the floor.

      “I’m going take a quick look.”

The elf darted to the end of the cell block and looked out into the constable area, then disappeared for a few seconds before scurrying back with a smile on his face.

      “You want the key, I can get it any time.”

John kicked Lestrade’s shin to ask for a lift back up and grinned smugly when he was deposited on the bed.

      “You two do know I don’t have any plans to escape, right?”

      “Silence, dung shaper.  Contingency plans are a vital, though distasteful, part of any initiative.”

      “Yeah, you gotta be able to run if this fails.  I’ve seen that Magnussen person and he’ll make sure to get you in as much trouble as possible.  We say run, you run and don’t ask questions.”

 _Just_ like Mycroft described him.  And Sherlock was already in tight with the little thief.  At least he’d have someone to keep him company when he took over his underground lair…

      “No running.  Now, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing?  I bet with all your hard work running won’t even be remotely necessary.”

That was the proudest pair of smiles he’d ever seen.  And, as he listened to their story, told in excited tones that had to be periodically hushed so they didn’t attract the constables’ attention, Lestrade had to admit it was deserved.

      “That’s amazing!  You two really made a lot of progress, didn’t you?”

      “You hire me, you hire the best.”

      “And I am incalculably effective, when the task interests me.  Our rapid rate of progress is only to be expected.  And, soon, victory will be ours.”

The sight of a tiny bat rubbing its wings together in satisfied excitement was not going to drag a laugh out of Lestrade, but it was _desperately_ trying to make its way out of his mouth…

      “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like freedom was at hand.”

      “No, I do not believe you have.  John and I have cracked wide the door and only an infinitesimal extension of the gap is necessary to prove your innocence.”

      “I’m sure that’s the case.  So, now that you have that behind you, what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

Ah ha!  Little bastards eyes’ lit up with just the right amount of ‘well, I don’t know, but I sort of have a few ideas if Sherlock/John would want to do that, too’ light that made him rub his own hands together in victory.  Mentally, at least.  Certainly didn’t want to startle the two boys who were actually starting a friendship because it probably wouldn’t take much to frighten or embarrass them away from continuing to try.  Friends were a good thing for a boy to have, human or not.  They understood you in a way your family didn’t and you could talk to them, sometimes, about things you just could talk about with anyone else.  Mycroft might think this was the end of the world, but his husband was wrong.  For Sherlock, and, maybe, for John, the world just might be opening up a bit.

      “Well, if you’re hoping for something to do, Mycroft said the new house is coming along well.  You could go and check to see if he’s telling the truth or lying to keep up my spirits.  John probably hasn’t seen your future kingdom, has he, Sherlock?”

When tiny bats gasp, some amount of steadying is needed to keep them from rolling over, but, luckily, the edge of the window frame was made of very steadying stuff.

      “Yes!  Mycroft has undoubtedly painted a rosy picture, however, I know for certain he has not personally overseen the workmen, so, being human, they are undoubtedly robbing us blind and using the structure for nefarious purposes.  John and I will conduct the inspection and take necessary steps.  I also must survey my laboratory space to ensure they have in no manner compromised its structural integrity.”

      “Another lab?”

      “Do not sneer, pixie, for it is a vast expanse that shall be mine to rule over, though I shall strive to use a fair and impartial hand.”

      “This I have to see, if only to prove you’re an idiot.”

      “Then see it you shall!  We are now leaving, Lestrade.  At some point soon we will return for John to make a public apology for doubting my dominion.”

 And to share the details of their latest shenanigans.  Just what kids _should_ do.  This really _was_ going well…

      “That sounds wonderful.  I look forward to hearing it.”

      “Of course you do.”

      “I’m not apologizing for anything!”

      “I’ll be just as happy to listen to your reason why not.  Goodbye, boys.  Thank you for visiting.  I certainly had a nice time.”

Before he could suffer another bruise, Lestrade lifted John back up to the window and gave both boys a smile as John shrank himself and climbed onto Sherlock’s back.

      “We shall return.”

And with that proclamation.  Sherlock took flight, leaving Lestrade to watch the boys leave and wonder how soon it would be before he had a tiny pair of visitors darkening his proverbial door again.  Not long, he suspected.  And, someday soon, maybe they could visit him somewhere other than a jail cell…

__________

      “So, that’s your brother’s husband?”

      “For my sins, yes.”

      “He… he doesn’t seem so bad.  Doesn’t have his nose in the air, at least.”

      “Lestrade is an… affable… individual, if I am forced to make an evaluation of his personality.  He is slightly less insufferable than Mycroft, and that is to his credit.”

      “I’d agree with that.  Could they really… you think he really could hang?”

      “If we do not succeed.  I cannot imagine a different fate for someone convicted of killing their family.”

      “A person would have to be stupid to believe that.  I only met him and I can tell he’s not a killer.”

      “The average person, however, is unobservant and blisteringly stupid.”

      “That’s true.  Ok, so we’ve got to help get him out of jail, one way or another.”

      “Yes, it is an imperative that cannot be denied.”

      “And… is he really a firestarter?”

      “I have seen the proof, though, I had no opportunity to experiment upon him due to his incarceration.  However, do not mention that to anyone at this point, lest it bias his trial.”

      “I won’t.  I can see why people might automatically think he was guilty, because of the blisteringly stupid thing.”

      “Verily it is the plague of society.”

      “Well, we’re on the case now, so he has a much better chance of being found innocent than he did before.”

      “Undoubtedly.  The remainder of his supporters are entirely bereft of creativity and analytical thinking.”

      “Yeah, Greg’s lucky he knows us.  I’ll stop in tomorrow to remind him how lucky he is and ask him if he has any information about the snake that might help me. I didn’t think about it tonight, but if he knows if Magnussen’s hard of hearing or just how short-sighted he is.  Any little detail can help.”

      “And you want him to demonstrate his firestarting ability to you.”

      “Hey!  I’ve got my mind on the job!  But… if he _did_ want to show me what he could do, that would be his decision now, wouldn’t it?”

      “Your transparency is discernable to a snail.  However… I noticed only the single piece of wood for the prisoner’s idle time, which he has already shamefully mangled…”

      “Yeah, he really does need some more so he can practice and not embarrass himself so badly.  Maybe I can take a look around and see what I can find.  Only if I have time, mind you.”

      “Of course.  Our free time cannot be consumed by Lestrade’s affairs in the manner Mycroft eats a berry tart.”

      “Not gonna happen.”

      “Absolutely.  It would be outrageous.”

      “It would.  Just out of curiosity, though… what sort of wood do you think is good for carving?”

      “Hmmm… I do not know.  However, I do have some books on the properties of natural materials and we might see what information they offer.”

      “Only if we have time.”

      “That goes without saying.”


	21. Chapter 21

      “Well, we cannot say that we did not expect this would occur at some point.”

Mycroft watched his father think and hoped that the older vampire’s brain could see some encouraging element that his younger mind has missed.

      “True, but I admit, though I am gratified we will see motion on Gregory’s situation, I am also greatly worried as to the direction said motion shall take.”

      “Then we are of like mind.  But, if Martha’s prophecy is correct, and I have no reason to suspect it is not, then he shall, at least, not suffer the prejudices that likely linger in his own community.  That is a comfort, to some extent.”

      “Have your representatives discovered _any_ friendly voices to lend to Gregory’s defense?”

      “A few, actually.  There are a number of individuals who, at the onset or after reflection, do not believe Gregory was at fault for the fire.  The issue, of course, is irrefutable evidence for that fact and, of that, none has yet been found.”

      “It _must_ exist!  There must be a person or persons who have direct knowledge of the event.”

      “That well may be, however, no one has stepped forward to announce that fact and I cannot believe any involved party would be anxious to do so.”

Mycroft scowled, but mostly from frustration that, despite what felt like progress, they were really no closer to proving his husband’s innocence.

      “Then we continue to try.”

      “Of course.  It is all we _can_ do.  And I shall see what witnesses of character may be brought forth to combat the claims of animosity in Gregory’s household.  Ardently-spoken words can carry weight, especially when combined with the praises of those Gregory has met while living in our region.  Remember, Mycroft… as little evidence we possess, the opposition possesses no more.  They have suspicions, coincidence and circumstance, but nothing has been put forward of which I am aware that definitely ties Gregory to the fire.”

      “However, once an accusation is laid, once an opinion has been formed…”

      “It can be brutally difficult to alter, I know.  But, do not despair, son… we are nowhere near the end of this and much can change in a heartbeat.”

That much Mycroft knew, but it was a sword that cut both ways and his Gregory could not afford any ill turn of the wind.

      “Go, Mycroft.  Read awhile, and try to relax.  I am certain that once your brother chooses to manifest, you shall be beset as if by a plague of locusts with his various demands.  Tell me, though… how goes his friendship with the elf?”

      “Very well, to my horror and dismay.”

      “I see.  And… I understand Sherlock’s new companion is quite the miscreant.”

      “Nearly of Sherlock’s caliber.”

      “Delightful.  Exactly what the family needs, a synchrony of misdeed.”

      “Mummy believes this to be quite the joyful happenstance.”

      “Your mother’s mind has obviously become enfeebled.  Perhaps one of her precious plants is toxic.”

      “Such was my concern.  However, the boys _do_ appear to be forming a connection and I do not believe we shall be able to affect an unraveling, at least, not without forceful effort.”

      “The very nature of friendships.  Let us see how this develops and keep a good thought that when the townspeople arrive with torches and pitchforks, we will have time to gather some belongings before we flee for our lives.  Your mother is most cross when she is without access to her jewels.”

      “True.  And you are correct… a quiet hour by the fire would be a welcome thing, I feel.”

      “For many reasons.”

      “Too numerous to count.”

      “Brave heart, Mycroft.  We will see the end of this and return to you your husband.”

Something for which Mycroft desperately hoped, but… yes, a quiet hour or so would be a blessed thing.  The weight in his heart was becoming quite difficult to carry and Sherlock finding him collapsed on the floor would not be the bright spot his day had been seeking.

__________

Sherlock debated going to his laboratory after taking his leave of John, but found his feet guiding him in the direction of his brother’s rooms, instead, much to the young vampire’s displeasure.

      “Ah, brother dear.  I see you have survived your experience with John.”

      “Pfft.  As if the pixie could discombulate me to any appreciable degree.”

      “Of course, how silly of me.  And, may I ask how you spent your time after you left Mrs. Hudson’s shop?  I did inquire and you did not return home, much to my consternation after our discussion about keeping me apprised of your whereabouts.”

      “For that, you may blame your artistically-challenged husband.  He evinced concern that your future home was not being reconstituted with any degree of diligence or craftsmanship and it fell to me and John to investigate the issue and determine if his concerns had merit.”

That was certainly not what Mycroft had expected to hear, though it was a very intriguing response, nonetheless.

      “You spoke with Gregory?”

      “John and I felt it was prudent to examine the jail for ease of escape, should it become necessary.  Unfortunately, our efforts were impeded by your concubine continuing to engage us in pointless conversation.”

Ah, so Sherlock wanted to present his new friend to his brother-in-law.  And, likely, solidify John’s support for their cause by putting a face to their sorrows.  Very intriguing, indeed…

      “Yes, Gregory is quite the garrulous man.  So, you spent these past few hours in my new home?  Does it still stand or is it naught but rubble strewn across a barren landscape?”

Sherlock’s snort nearly ruffled Mycroft’s hair and the boy hurled himself into the second chair near the fire. 

      “Imbecile.  As if I would do anything to reduce the use of that atrocious structure for my purposes.  My visit was to address John’s disbelief at my description of my new laboratory space.  I was duty-bound to demonstrate to him, in my fullest capacity, his idiocy and instill the proper sense of envy and awe.”

Showing off his newly-claimed property.  That, at least, was _very_ Sherlock-like.

      “And was John properly cowed by the vigor of your demonstration?”

      “Without question.  The color his envy painted his skin was decidedly unappealing.”

      “I am certain you were pleased.  Since I am not being haunted, at the moment, by multiple dark specters, I take it he has now returned home?”

      “Yes.  His lackluster physical stamina demands that he obtain sleep before returning to his contracted work tomorrow.”

      “Yes, the bane of living creatures is the pesky needs of biology.”

      “That is why I am a higher being.  My degree of burden is pitifully small.”

      “How delightful for you.  I assume, then, that you shall not be seeing John tomorrow.”

      “You would be wrong.  He is to visit here after sunset to report on his findings as to the details of Mangussen’s room at the inn.  He and I shall take breakfast in my laboratory, so do not expect me to grace you with my presence at table.”

At least there was a small ray of sunshine amongst the storm clouds.  Though… it would be dishonorable to deny the small flash of pleasure that lit his brother’s face at the mention of another visit by the elf.  Perhaps their association was not one to benefit the rest of the world, but he _had_ always harbored hope for Sherlock that he would not live a life as lonely as _his_ had been before he met his spouse.  Given this was Sherlock, it should not be surprising that that his hope would be realized through the most unholy of alliances.

      “I will endeavor to survive.”

      “I care not.  Now, I have work to do in my laboratory.  Do not disturb me.”

Sherlock hopped up from the chair and stalked away, leaving Mycroft to marvel at how the dirt and sand covering his brother’s deeply-buried heart was being swept away, a little more each day.  Gregory must have been quite astonished and buoyed by the impromptu visit and anything to bolster his husband’s spirits was a welcome thing.  And, there was little doubt that one visit would be followed by more; Sherlock was nothing if not repetitive when he found something that did not immediately repulse him and, very likely to Sherlock’s great upset, having a brother-in-law was in no manner a repelling thing in his life.  However, there was little doubt that he would claim that very thing often and at high volume through the coming years.  Perhaps he should seek some form of hearing diminishers for his husband.  Even a piece of silk tied around his head to stem the flow of Sherlock’s rantings would be useful, and rakish, at that…

__________

      “Look who it is!  Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Holmes.  Come here often?”

His spouse was such a deliciously impish man.  As well as simply being delicious…

      “Now and again, Mr. Lestrade.  I find the company pleasant, at times.”

Mycroft greeted his lover with a kiss through the bars of the cell and breathed in his scent to assure himself that all continued to be well with the man he loved.

      “Well, I hope tonight’s one of those times.  Sherlock visited last night… did he tell you that?”

The vampire drew over a stool and got comfortable for his nightly conversation.

      “He did, at that.  With John, too.”

      “That was unexpected!  Feisty little thing… lots of energy.  He’ll be able to keep up with Sherlock with no problem at all.  They’re going have lots of adventures, those two, and I couldn’t be happier for it.”

Oh no.

      “Gregory, are you feeling well?”

      “What?  Sherlock’s got a little friend that he can talk to and do things with and not be alone in his lab every night or trailing after you hoping to do something funny and evil.”

Not another insane member of his family.  Mummy losing her faculties was burdensome enough…

      “You cannot be endorsing their activities!”

      “Absolutely!  They’re two unique boys and I’m glad they’ve got someone to share their uniqueness with.  And they’re good boys at heart… didn’t have to come and visit me, did they?  All their silliness about escaping from jail, as if I believed any of that.  Well, as if I believed _all_ of that.  They came to give me a little company and that’s good-hearted.”

Gardening and insanity… it was clear who was going to be Mummy’s favorite son from this point forward…

      “Well, if you are of a positive mind about the situation, I am glad for you.”

      “They make you loony, don’t they?”

      “You have no idea.”

His Gregory’s laughter… the tolling of church bells and trilling of the birds was cacophony compared to his husband’s laughter.

      “Poor, Mycroft.  Anyway, what are you doing tonight, besides wasting time with me?”

      “Never a waste, my dear.  All time spent with you is a blessing.  That being said, I do have matters that require my attention with respect to several investment ventures I am considering.”

      “That sounds important.”

Something Lestrade adored.  His Mycroft’s mind was nearly as thrilling as his luscious body and wasn’t he a lucky boy to have free access to both.

      “Insomuch as it shall help us maintain our home, yes.  As Father reminded me, one must work for one’s income…”

      “And I’m not being much help with that in here.  When I’m out, though, that’s going to be the first thing on my mind – finding out what I can do for work.”

      “Gregory, you can forestall making any definitive choice until you have had some time to recover from your experience.”

      “My experience consists of sitting here and… sitting here.  I’m ready to do something, love.  And, I’m not going to be the sort of man who sits back and leaves all the responsibility for our home and our lives to you.  It’s not fair and it’s not me.”

      “I know, my love, and I understand perfectly.  And…”

Now, for the most pressing matter of the evening…

      “… that may be occupying your thoughts somewhat earlier than you might have expected.”

      “Oh… why?”

Though, from the look in his lover’s eyes, Lestrade wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

      “The messenger sent to establish the venue of your trial will be here in two days.  No, I misspeak, for I learned of this last night, so his arrival is imminent.”

Mycroft reached through the bars and wished his husband hadn’t sat on the bed so he could have offered the comfort his love so obviously needed.

      “So soon?”

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “Ha!  Here I am hoping to get moving with this and now that it’s happening, I want to stuff the whole lot in a box and let it sit for a few more weeks.”

      “I share your feeling, Gregory, but take solace in the fact that Mrs. Hudson has tested the waters and pronounces them placid.”

      “What?”

      “She is of the mind that the decision shall be in your favor and your trial shall be here.”

      “Oh, well, that’s something, at least.  A lot of something, actually.  But… the trial _is_ going to happen soon, though, isn’t it?”

      “I have little doubt.  I know many are very interested in seeing this business finally underway and for good and helpful reason.  You have many supporters, my dear.  In fact, I have heard of no significant detractor presenting themselves and what rumbling has been noted has been from those who are not residents of the town.  Individuals we believe were brought here specifically to sow the seeds of doubt.  However, those seeds have failed utterly to take root and flourish.”

      “That’s good.  That makes me feel better, actually.  That was hard, you know?  When the fire happened, I mean.  Knowing so many were ready to think bad about me.  To believe I’d do something that terrible.  I guess I deserved it, in some way, because they knew the terrible things I _had_ done, even if only by accident.  It still hurt, though.”

Such pain and for so very long… a bitter flavor settled on Mycroft’s tongue from the unfairness of it all, but there was no changing the past.  All he could do was fashion a future with his husband where those terrible memories were fated to sit at the bottom of a mountain of loving and positive ones, which would be added to daily for the rest of their lives.

      “You cannot blame yourself for what lies out of your control, Gregory.  No good comes from such thoughts.”

      “You’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to not to think them.  Hey!  Let’s talk about something happier, what say?  If the trial is soon that means, if all goes well, I’ll be home soon, too.”

Mycroft accepted the change of subject, but rededicated himself to easing his husband’s feelings of guilt and pain.  And, it was not clear that he would not be alone in that task, for Sherlock had undoubtedly embraced their newest family member and would bring Gregory as much irritating joy as he had the rest of the clan.

      “Something for which I am supremely anxious.  I am so very lonely without you, my love.  The coldness of my bed appalls me each and every dawn.”

      “Well, we need to do something about that.  As soon as I’m released, we’ll plan on staying in bed for… oh.”

      “Gregory?”

      “Mycroft… the trial will be during the day, won’t it?”

The sudden unease in Lestrade’s eyes was surely mirrored by his own, if Mycroft’s rapidly-beating heart was any indication.  It was not a crippling problem, but it would reduce, perhaps, the effectiveness of key members of his husband’s supporters.

      “I had not given that any thought, but I suppose you are correct.”

Seeing his spouse’s shoulders droop with the weight of dejection cut cruelly to the vampire’s core.

      “But you know, Gregory, that I can manage the sun with a good deal of resistance.  Father and Mummy are even more immune to its effects.”

      “You’re diminished, though.  You said so yourself.  And tired.  I know how tired you get during the day, love.  You sleep like the dead.  Oh god…”

This time, Mycroft rose and held out both arms, waving them to get Lestrade’s attention.  It took a moment but the distraught man finally got off the bed and into the best embrace his vampire could manage.

      “Do not fret, Gregory.  Put all worries out of your mind on this score.  I will be there for every minute you face those would accuse you.  And so will Father.  We will not leave you alone in your time of need, I give you my most solemn word.  In fact, I shall ask Father if he can request that each round of proceedings begin late in the day so that he and I might do our duty as members of your family.  It is not an unreasonable request, given we are of vampire blood.  A late start to give us time to take some rest and bear only the waning rays of the sun… they shall surely see the equity in that.”

However, there was no guarantee it would be allowed.  The justices had their own lives and homes and would certainly not wish to interfere with their own daily routine.  However, Father had been extremely accommodating to date and it would surprise no one if he chose to wield his authority for this particular situation, one that did not buy favor, but simply fair treatment for the accused.

      “Do you really think so?”

      “I do.  Your trial is just that, my dear… a trial.  It is not being undertaken with the preconception of your guilt and the justices will not want to disadvantage you unfairly.”

Because, if Father noticed any impropriety or believed the proceedings inequitable, his wrath would truly be terrifying.

      “Ok.  Ok, I believe you.”

      “Excellent.  Now, Mummy has items of business she wished me to bring to your attention.  Prepare yourself for an extensive list.”

      “House or garden?”

      “Both.”

Lestrade gave his husband a kiss, then sat back on his bed.

      “Go ahead.  I’ve got all night.”

__________

      “Sherlock, your friend John has arrived.”

The young vampire looked up from his book and it warmed his mother’s heart to see the clear, though quickly disguised, delight on her son’s face.

      “Good.  I do not tolerate tardiness.”

      John made a rude noise and strolled confidently into the laboratory, making very certain to let show none of the remaining awe at the large room.

      “Excellent riposte, John.  You are speaking a language in which Sherlock is quite fluent.  Now, I shall have breakfast delivered here so you two can tend to your very important business.”

      “Our business is _very_ important.  Without John and I, Lestrade shall rot like a fish in his cell.  Already he is acquiring the requisite smell and the sloughing off of flesh cannot be long to follow.”

      “Yeah, he could use a good dunking in the lake.”

      “I shall inform Mycroft to check Gregory’s supply of soap and impress upon the constables the importance of providing him regularly with pails of water to conduct his bathing.  It is very considerate of you both to show concern for his hygiene for, as we know, all men of good quality are vigilant about their presentation.”

The extremely surreptitious sniffs of the boys’ own presentation would not be mentioned by the Holmes matriarch, but private amusements were often the most satisfying.

      “If it keeps him from making me gag, then I’m happy.  Now, did someone say something about breakfast?”

A boy with a hearty appetite, too.  Perhaps John’s attitudes on food would be absorbed by her rail-thin son.

      “That you did and I shall attend to it immediately.  Do not fear, John.  The cook is well-versed in the cuisine of your people.  Have a good visit, boys.  I shall check on you later to see if you require anything further.”

Sherlock waited until his mother left to let out a large, put-upon huff.

      “She is as meddlesome as Mycroft, though without his porcine girth.”

      “Yeah, but we’re getting food and that’s always a good thing.  My mum made barley soup for dinner.  You know what barley tastes like?  Dirt.  And adding a bunch of herbs to it just makes it taste like grassy dirt.”

      “You have my sympathy.”

      “Yeah, well, it’s my curse for being born an elf.  Plants, plants and more plants to eat.  One day, I’m going to turn into a plant.”

      “Do me the courtesy of performing your transformation away from Mummy’s eyes or she will add you in her garden and most certainly task me to tend to your watering and pruning.”

      “Which you should be honored to do, Sherlock.  Hear me?  Honored.”

      “There is little honor to be had in nursemaiding a weed.”

      “I’m not a weed!  I’d be a… well, I don’t know exactly what it’d be, but it’d be majestic, that much I know.”

      “You are confusing majestic with mentally mangled.”

      “Wrong.  You are so wrong I can’t even count the number of ways your wrongness offends me.”

      “That is not surprising, since your ability to count is limited to the number of digits on your hands and feet.”

      “Hah!  You’re lucky I learned a lot today, so I have to stay to tell you all about it or I’d just eat my food and leave to actually have some fun tonight.”

      “You made progress with our initiative?”

Sherlock immediately drew John over to his main work table and after John climbed on a stool, made urging motions to get the elf to start speaking.

      “I got the chance to sneak into Magnussen’s room today while the innkeeper was busy cleaning.  It was a good thing, too, because I mapped eight places where a wrong step would make a creak, even with me at small size.  Found a couple of mouse tunnels, which could be handy if I have to hide quickly, but no rats, which was a relief.  I even got the chance to use your slippery potion on the window.  I’m not sure it’s going to be enough to work, at least not now while it’s wet.  I got it open a crack, but not enough for me to get through.  When the weather’s a little drier, that should help but…”

      “We have no time to wait for the whims of weather!  I overheard Father discussing with Mummy Lestrade’s fate and his trial is likely only days away from beginning.  Father might argue a postponement, but that would buy for us only a little time.  I do not believe we can rely on good fortune to bless us with unswollen wood, so we must be proactive in our actions.”

      “Can you… can’t you use a spell to help open the window?  I mean, the potion was a good idea, but if there’s something else you can do…”

      “Hmmm… I _am_ an incomparable worker of magic, however… wood is problematic.”

      “Problematic?  What does that mean?”

      “While I can relocate pieces of wood, may make use of it in certain specific rituals… it tends to resist magical efforts most vigorously.  It is likely I could pry the window open, however, we would again have the problem of noise working against us.  I would have to convince the wood to release it’s moisture and return to its standard turgor for a quiet opening and… I am not confident I have yet reached that level of potency.”

Sherlock’s chagrin was so blinding that John had no doubt he was telling the complete truth.

      “Ok… then we go with one of our existing plans.  I didn’t explore the mouse tunnels too deeply, but they seemed to lead upwards and that’s not very helpful, so through the door it’s going to be or try to get him to open the window himself. Maybe you or that brother of yours can keep the innkeeper busy while I work so he doesn’t catch me.”

      “That is easily accomplished.  I can instruct Mycroft to enter negotiations to purchase the inn or book a bevy of its rooms for one of our eternal trade meetings and that, with Mycroft’s unending droning, could last a century.”

      “Perfect.  So… we do this when?”

      “Tomorrow.  We would need time to use the ring for its intended purpose and act upon our findings, should there actually be any.”

      “Tomorrow it is, then.  I wasn’t able to get to talk to Greg today, since I barely had time to investigate the inn before I had to do my errands for my dad, but I’ll have time tomorrow.  Anything he can tell me could be useful.  And you need to talk to Mrs. Hudson about something to make the snake sleep soundly while I work.”

      “I shall do that tonight.  Perhaps she will have something that can be slipped into his food or drink.” 

      “Then we have our plan.  Now… what do you want to do?  I mean, is there something else you wanted to do tonight?”

Each boy was still feeling very unused to having someone to actually do something with and received a little reassurance they were not alone in that feeling from the look on anticipation on their companion’s face.

      “I… I was considering continuing to research my transmutation ritual.  I met with little success with my last attempt; however, an additional person to assist me with certain of the more physical aspects might improve my efforts.”

      “Transmutation… that’s making gold, right.”

      “Yes.”

      “That sounds like a _very_ good way to spend a few hours.  After, of course, we’ve negotiated how much I’ll get paid for being your assistant.”

      “Avaricious pixie!  I’ll not have my serious experiments sullied by your grasping for lucre.”

      “Hey!  If you’re going to make gold and I help, you owe me a percentage of it.”

      “Very well.  One percent.”

      “You’re a terrible negotiator.  Even your brother wasn’t that bad.”

Sherlock’s indignation shook the stone walls and the deal-making commenced in earnest.  Even if this was the extent of their activity for the night, both boys could be credited with having a very nice time, because neither of them liked to lose and the fight to victory could be a very enjoyable one, indeed.  Plus, there was food on the way and they certainly had to make time for that…

__________

The next morning, John slunk along through the town until he found himself at the jail and, after a quick shrinking, the boy climbed the wall and walked between the bars of Lestrade’s window.

      “Do my eyes spy a visitor this fine morning?  I believe they do, and through the window again.  There is a thing called a door, lad, if you were unaware of it.”

Lestrade looked at the glowering elf who was perched on his window and smiled brightly at the unexpected guest.

      “Look.  My job is supposed to be a secret, so it wouldn’t be a great idea for me to be seen with you, would it?”

Being seen with Sherlock was probably enough to blow any secrecy to shreds, but Lestrade failed to mention that fact.

      “Very strategic of you.  And to what do I owe your pleasant, yet secret, company?”

      “I’m going for the ring tonight, so if there’s anything you can tell me about this Magnussen, now’s the time.”

Oh… that wasn’t what Lestrade expected, but it made sense, given the news he’d received from Mycroft.  Things were just moving so fast, though…

      “I see.  Well, I’ll say thank you for what you’re doing and if there’s anything I can do to help I obviously will but… I don’t know what you can learn from me.”

John was not at all used to being thanked for… anything… but he had enough awareness to tell that Lestrade was being sincere and that was nice.  Stupid and pointless, of course, but nice…

      “Anything!  How’s his hearing?  Why does he wear those spectacles?  Does he get up to pee a lot at night?  Does he have any habits that might make my job easier or harder?  I’ve probably got one shot at this, so any information can be useful.”

Lestrade had to admit the thief was thorough and efficient about his larceny.  A true little professional.  Now, if they could only turn those skills and professionalism to a slightly more acceptable pursuit…

      “As far as I know his hearing’s good.  I never noticed him asking people to repeat themselves.  I do know he wears his spectacles for seeing things farther away.  I’m not even going to think about him taking a piss or my brain will hurt, but I think I can say I don’t know anything about that.  Honestly, I don’t know much about him, lad.  He’s careful and alert, that much I know.  Always thinking a step ahead and keeping his eye on his surroundings.  If you do manage to get the ring, I’d make sure you don’t move anything in the room an inch from its original position because he’ll know and that _will_ make him suspicious.”

      “Ok… that’s good to know.  I’ll wear something brown so if he spots me, I’ll run to a mouse hole and he’ll likely believe I’m a mouse since he won’t see me that well.”

      “Glad to be of help.”

      “ _Minimal_ help, but it’s better than nothing.”

The prisoner suppressed his grin at the elf’s scowl, especially when the very small boy began idly kicking one of the window bars and looking around the cell.

      “Something on your mind, John?”

      “Always.  There is _always_ something on my mind, I’ll have you know.  But…”

      Yes?”

Lestrade obliged as John motioned for a lift down to the bed and leaned over in response to the order to come closer.

      “Are you really a firestarter?”

Ah hah… well, it probably was too much to ask for Sherlock to keep that bit of information from his new friend, but it looked like John was determined to _keep_ that information from spreading from outside their very privileged circle.

      “Yeah, I can.  Want to see?”

John grinned shyly and nodded, stopping himself from clapping when Lestrade called up a flame in the palm of his hand that he then let climb up his wiggling fingers.

      “Oh… that’s… well, Sherlock wasn’t lying.”

      “Which is a surprise in itself.  But, yeah… call it a curse or a talent, but it’s part of me.  When I was on my own, I'd just do this for entertainment because… well, you can watch it for a long time and it’s always changing.  Never stays the same and, frankly, it’s beautiful.  And it kept me well situated with hot soup on cold nights, as long as I was able to lay hands on a few vegetables.”

Lestrade let the fire burn awhile longer, chuckling at John’s fascination with the blaze, though he took great care that no stray bit of fire came near the tiny elf.

      “You could make a lot of money with that ability, you know?”

      “Legally?”

      “That’s not important.”

      “Actually, I think it is.  But, I would be happy if I could use it to help people in some way.  It’s not much good for that, though.  People only seem to get hurt.”

The blaze vanished and John felt an unfamiliar twinge of distress from the sadness in Lestrade’s eyes.

      “Yeah, I guess… I can understand that.  I suppose.”

Actually, John didn’t want to understand because when Sherlock had told him the whole story about Lestrade’s accusation, the picture in his mind had made his stomach ache.  Then, he’d thought about his own cottage burning like that and his stomach had ached more.  It would be amazing to be able to do what Greg could do but… Greg was right.  People might get hurt and the fun wasn’t worth that _might_.

      “Good lad.  Now, you’re going to be careful tonight, aren’t you?  I’m very happy for your help, but I don’t want anything to happen to you because of it.”

      “Hey!  I know my job!”

Though someone worrying about him doing it was… not annoying.

      “I have no doubt about that, but things happen you don’t expect or can’t predict.  Just be careful, John.  Magnussen is a dangerous man.”

      “I figured that out the first time I saw him.  I’ve gotta go now… I have some things to do and then I need a few hours sleep before I meet Sherlock tonight.”

Lestrade lifted John back to the window and felt his heart sag a little watching the elf begin to climb back down the jail’s exterior.  He would never take for granted again having someone to talk to, because sitting here, hour after hour, day after day, with only himself for company, even though it hadn’t been for that long in the grand scheme of things, was a truly lonely thing.  And, of course, it was getting hard to watch people come for a visit, knowing they would be able to leave again, while he was condemned to this side of the bars.  But, that was...

      “Ow!”

And another few similar yelps occurred before the prisoner found himself not being pummeled by… wood.  Pieces of wood tossed between the bars of the window.  Wood that was actually quite nice, now that he looked at it.  Very good wood for carving and perfectly sized for being gathered by small hands.  Sherlock and John might proudly claim to have shriveled and blackened hearts, but that was pure bollocks.  Now, if he could only be a free man to actually encourage them to show those good hearts a little more often.  If nothing else, it would save his husband quite a few headaches…

__________

The current paternal figure in the Holmes clan looked down at the small boy glaring up at him, then at his sadly-demented wife’s warm smile, next at his oldest son’s look of soul-crippling pain and, finally, at his youngest son’s look of pride and mentally welcomed John to their growing family.  It was definitely time to start stocking his cellars with beer… very, very strong beer…

      “Well?  What are you looking at?”

Could Sherlock’s pride glow more brightly?  No, it likely couldn’t.  Mycroft was correct… the end of the world was nigh… 

      “An ill-mannered gnome, apparently.”

Volcanic fury was truly all the more wearying when voiced as a duo.

      “I’m not a gnome!  Do you see a hat on my head?”

      “John is not a gnome!  He is completely bereft of beard and, likely, any trace of hair on his infantile body!”

      “I’ll show you infantile, Sherlock!  How infants punch!”

      “Approach me at your peril!”

Why was his wife beaming as if she were watching a pair of puppies romping on a rug?  There would be words about this at the first possible opportunity…

      “BACK to the matter at hand.  Is everyone prepared?”

The chorus of yes’s were, at least, encouraging and with a nod, the small crowd was dispersed to their respective tasks.  For the older pair, that would be waiting at Mrs. Hudson’s shop to receive the ring.  For Mycroft and Sherlock, it was sneaking the sleeping-aid herbs into Magnussen’s food, then keeping watch for the innkeeper or any other guest potentially stumbling upon the boys.  For John… the fun was about to begin…

__________

This wasn’t fun!

      “When is he going to go to sleep?”

Mycroft sighed at the question, which had been asked by one or the other boy at least twenty times so far.

      “When he becomes fatigued, I presume.”

      “You’re not funny, pervert vampire.  Don’t even try.”

      “Verily, do not insult us with your attempts at mirth, Mycroft, lest we both die from boredom and are unable to complete our mission.  In any case, Mrs. Hudson said the effect would come upon him gradually.  However, I shall _not_ forgive his lack of consideration for our needs.  Among the legion of other issues for which he will not gain my forgiveness.”

John nodded at his friend and Mycroft stretched out his legs to grow comfortable while they sat on a moonlight-free patch of ground waiting for the candle in Magnussen’s room to be extinguished.

      “I shall write him a formal declaration stating your position with all due succinctness and severity.”

      “You should!  He should suffer _some_ reproach for his reprehensible behavior.”

Oh, he would.  Nobody might know the form it would take or the severity of the chastisement, but there _would_ be a reckoning.  One that the dastardly man would never forget… if he lived sufficiently long to make memory a meaningful concept.

      “I am certain that Fate shall bestow upon Charles the reward he justly deserves for his villainy.  Now… oh.  The window is dark.”

Sherlock’s and John’s eyes followed Mycroft’s towards the window, which lacked its former glow.

      “That’s my signal.  Ok, we move.”

Three figures dashed across to the inn and snuck in through the rear door.  Listening closely and failing to hear nearby footsteps, said figures darted forwards and up the back stairs to reach the upper story of guest rooms.  Peeking around the corner and finding the corridor empty, it was another dash to Magnussen’s room, where John silently finagled the lock then shrank down to thieving size.

      “Ok, give me the duplicate.”

Mycroft drew the ring out of his pocket and handed it to the elf, who nearly fell over from the weight.

      “Bollocks!”

      “John!  Language!”

      “Be quiet, you stupid vampire!

      “Be silent, both of you!  You shall wake the entire town with your braying and I, for one, do not intend to spend the remainder of the night in the cell adjacent to Lestrade’s!”

John scowled and picked the ring off of the floor, grunting with the effort.

      “John… will you… is it too heavy?”

Mycroft suddenly realized that a large, thick gold ring with a hefty stone would be quite the load for a tiny elf.

      “I’m… I’m fine.  No problem here.”

Said in nearly a squeak that Mycroft chose to ignore, because… he had to.  He _had_ to believe that all would go well and this night would end in success.

      “If your pathetic physical strength compromises our mission, I shall thrash you, pixie.”

      “Good luck doing that, teeny fangs, with those puny arms of yours.”

      “My arms are…”

      “NOT the relevant topic of the moment.  If John says that he is prepared to continue, then that is the end of the matter.  Sherlock, watch the front stairs.  I shall watch the rear.  John… I wish you good luck.”

John gave Mycroft a confident nod and, after the vampire had opened the door a crack, slipped through to begin his work.  Stupid ring… weighed as much as a cow.  _He_ was stupid!  Hadn’t even thought about trying to work with this big, stupid ring at this size.  Now… well, he had to succeed before, but now he _had_ to succeed or the failure would be because he was dumb and didn’t plan well and that was a disgrace he wasn’t going to have on his shoulders for love or money.

Creeping slowly towards the bed, John listened to the sound of Magnussen’s breathing and liked what he heard.  Deep and slow, with a little sputtering that said snoring was just around the corner.  Remembering where was each creaky board, the elf made it to the bed without making a sound and now… he had to get the ring onto the bed.  _Onto_ the bed.  Which meant upwards.  This was going to be hard.  Luckily, Sherlock’s mum had fed him up with a big plate of food and lots of bread before they started tonight.  He was going to need every bit of that energy to get the rings up and down the bed.  Or…

Taking a huge risk, John grew to his normal size put the ring on the blanket, then quickly shrank and made the climb up the bedpost, stopping twice when he thought he heard his target stir.  When that didn’t actually happen, he continued on and finally stood next to the duplicate ring and near the hand that held what he was there to steal.  And that hand was on top of the blanket.  When Sherlock got the sleepy herbs from Mrs. Hudson, the two had thought about the blanket issue and the witch had slipped in something to make the snake feel warm.  If they’d been lucky, it would have made him open the window, but they hadn’t.  At least not that lucky.  But, it _had_ won him his target pushing the blanket down away from his arms and chest while he slept, and that was luck enough as far as he was concerned right now.  That alone was worth listening to the flying field mouse complain about having to sneak into the inn’s kitchen to toss the witch’s herbs into the night’s stew.  And, as a bonus, it should keep the number of wandering inn guests to a minimum because _everyone_ had stew that night…

After chiding himself for very obvious stalling, John fished in his pocket for the small vial of Sherlock’s potion and, crawling slowly forward, drizzled it on Magnussen’s hand, running at top speed back to the foot of the bed when that very hand twitched and rose to scratch Magnussen’s nose.  When it was back in somewhat its former position, the elf crawled forward again and put a few more drops of potion on the finger and then, very carefully, gave the ring a tug.  And it didn’t move.

Stupid heavy ring!  He hadn’t thought of carrying the dumb thing and he certainly hadn’t thought of how hard it would be to tug the bastard off the bastardy bastard’s finger!  Fine.  Add more potion and this time, really tug.  Maybe twist it a little, too, but mostly tug.  Tug hard.  No, harder, dumb elf.  Really, really hard you stupid gnome-kissing pixie!  Tug so hard that… aaaahhhh!!!!

Once the potion seeped beneath the ring, John’s tug produced results such that the little elf shot backwards and into Magnussen’s thigh.  Scurrying beneath the blanket and astonished that he’d held onto his prize, John pleaded with every helpful elf spirit for his quarry not to notice the lack of ring as he hrmphed and wriggled and rolled slightly onto his side.  Finally peeking out from the blanket, John heaved a sigh of relief that his collision hadn’t brought about failure.  Of course, the job was only half done and failure never remained far out of sight because it was a big stupid bastard that he’d punch if it ever became possible.

Now, it was the second stage of his work and this was just as tricky as the first; trickier, maybe, since Magnussen might not be sleeping as soundly as before.  Moving very slowly, partly because he was getting very tired dragging the heavy rings, John made his way to Magnussen’s hand and swore silently seeing that the hand was no longer easily accessible.  Throwing caution to the wind, the elf left the ring and scooted around to the other side of the bed, where he gave Magnussen’s arse a slight pinch, throwing his arms in the air in victory when the evil man rolled back onto his back and wriggled a little more to rid himself of the unusual sensation.  A quick run back around and another moment of raised victory arms because the hand was reachable again, then John began in earnest making the swap.

As he’d expected, this was harder than the first go.  Pulling is easy.  Pushing is hard.  His feet couldn’t get much traction on the thin bedsheet and he fell on his face twice, missing Magnussen’s fingertip by the width of one of the hairs on his little elf head.  More potion landed on skin and another several long moment’s pushing was needed before the counterfeit ring was secure on its new owner’s hand.  John debated a moment, then took off his shirt and used it to dab away as much of Sherlock’s potion as he could from around the ring because, if Greg was right, any trace would be a giveaway that something was wrong and he’d come too far to throw everything away because of sloppy work.

Finally, it was a scramble down the bedpost, a quick enlargement to retrieve the ring and an even quicker shrinking to start running towards…

_Creak_

John froze before his next foot hit the board and punched himself on the arm for being so careless.

      “Mmmm?”

John ran as quickly as possible with his cargo towards the closest mouse hole and waited there while Magnussen cracked his eyes, rubbed his face and stared blearily around the room.  Hoping his breathing wasn’t as loud as he feared, the elf counted the seconds until head returned to pillow and then more seconds until there was again a steady, slow breathing coming from the man in the bed.  This time, John looked ahead at his path and moved carefully, avoiding all known pitfalls until he slid through the door, and, remembering again Greg’s warning, grew, reached around to lock Magnussen’s door from the inside before quietly drawing it closed and collapsing onto his bum for a much needed anxiety event.

      “John!  Dear heavens… are you alright?”

Mycroft ran to the small boy and crouched down next to his heaving and panting form.  Sherlock was quick to follow and looked almost fearful for his new friend’s condition.

      “I… yeah.  Yeah, I am.  Just let me catch my breath.  No!  No, that’s stupid and I’ve been stupid enough for one night.  Let’s get out of here now before someone sees us.  Besides…”

John held up his treasure and basked in Mycroft and Sherlock’s massive grins of satisfaction.

      “… we have to get this to Mrs. Hudson right away.”

Mycroft didn’t need any further prompting, choosing to lift both boys under his arms and race them out of the building, not stopping running until he reached Mrs. Hudson’s shop, much to the loudly expressed displeasure of his passengers.

      “I am not a sack of turnips!”

      “You do that again, vampire, and you’re going to have an up close and personal encounter with my fist!”

      “Mycroft!  Did you…”

Mycroft smiled at his mother and nudged John, who reached into his pocket and extracted the prize he was carrying.

      “Success!  John performed superbly and we were not discovered by anyone.  Mrs. Hudson… can you…”

Before Mycroft could even finish, the witch was moving forward to snatch the ring and yelling for Sherlock to help gather the materials for the spell.  While they worked the remaining four, paced nervously, Mummy Holmes taking time to put together a small meal for John who appeared decidedly drained by the experience.  After an hour or so, it was Sherlock who needed a snack and it was another hour before the witch emitted a loud and gleeful cackle waving everyone over to stare into the small circle of stones that surrounded the stone bowl filled to the brim with water.  In the water, staring back, was a face.

      “Mrs. Hudson?  What… what is that?”

The witch turned to the very-nervous Mycroft and smiled widely.

      “A witness, my boy.  We have ourselves a witness.”


	22. Chapter 22

      “That’s William Stone, one of the lads who used to work for us.  He drove one of our wagons.  His brother, James, worked in the storage house.  How… what’s going on?”

Lestrade kept staring into the small crystal sphere in which Mrs. Hudson had captured the image of their witness and Mycroft heaved a sigh of relief that the man had been identified.

      “This individual has information about the fire.”

      “The ring worked?”

      “Yes.  We don’t know exactly the information, but we do know he possesses it.  Now that he has been identified, a message will be sent on swiftest wings to Father’s representatives in the area to bring the man here.  There is hope, my husband.”

Mycroft reached out and caressed his spouse’s trembling hand and allowed Lestrade a moment to digest the revelation.

      “I know him.  I _know_ him… how could he have information about what happened and not say anything.”

      “I have no idea, my love, but we will soon learn the answer.”

      “Are they… will you ask for a postponement of the trial until he arrives?”

The point of some heated discussion already tonight.

      “No.  Father and I believe that if it were known there was a witness available, Magnussen would take steps to ensure that was no longer the case.  Father’s men are exceptionally good at what they do, but we cannot take even the slightest chance.  This knowledge must, therefore, be kept secret until he has arrived and we know the information he brings.”

An option not appreciated by Mummy, Sherlock or John, but Mrs. Hudson’s grudging support to his and Father’s side had tipped the scales towards prudency.

      “I guess I understand that.  It’s sort of a gamble, though.  What if my trial is quick?  There’s not really much evidence and they could sentence me an hour after we start.”

Not if the magisterial faction wanted to retain possession of their heads.

      “That will not happen.  As I have said, we have testimonies of character to present, we have the ability to offer rebuttal to any accusation or supposed demonstration of proof of the accusation… and, as soon as the messenger arrives and the trial venue is set, we shall make our argument for a late start to the trial each day.  Knowing well the habits of our justices, that will also likely mean a short daily session, since they will not want to linger when they could be home enjoying their dinner.  That will prolong the proceedings nicely, I would think.”

Seeing Lestrade still gripped tightly by worry and, worse, growing despair, Mycroft looked to see that they were not observed and quickly turned to mist to move through the bars of the cell to better comfort his lover.  His greatly startled lover.

      “Haven’t seen you do that before. That’s amazing!”

      “I cannot reveal all my mysteries at once, lest you grow bored of my tedium.”

      “Never bored, love.  Never at all.”

The vampire held his husband close and let Lestrade’s head rest on his shoulder, all the while running a hand up and down the broad back of the man he was certain made his heart beat each day.

      “I love you, Gregory.  Soon, we shall be able to celebrate that love properly and live the life we so greatly want.  Do not despair that we shall not.”

      “I’m trying not to, I really am.  And I’ve had good news today, so that’s progress.  Nothing’s as good, though, as this… having you in my arms.”

Mycroft breathed in and hoped the sound of his very discreet sniffing wasn’t too audible.  His husband’s scent was intoxicating at any time, but when he was suffused with their love and devotion, it was beyond compare.

      “And I agree.  This is without doubt what I long for most… having you near to hold your hand or embrace your body to feel your heat and partake of your strength.  There is a profound sense of peace when I but simply touch you.  I cannot explain it, yet I crave, nonetheless.”

      “That’s how I feel.  Maybe I can’t express it as well as you can, but I recognize what you’re saying and I feel the same.  Soon, though, we’ll be able to do this whenever we want.”

      “That we will and I am eager for it.”

And eager for something else, actually, many things else, but his spouse turning so his vampire could wrap arms around his waist and press against his back was certainly one of them.

      “Feed awhile?  The constables never bother us so…”

      “I am honored... and fantastically delighted.”

Mycroft kissed Lestrade’s neck, gently drinking in his contented sighs as he would a glass of the finest wine and, finally, sank his fangs into his husband’s flesh and began to feed.  This was an indescribable thing and he would not even attempt to try, but… how had he lived without it?  How had he survived in this life without the feel of his husband in his arms and the flavor of his blood upon his tongue?  There was nothing in this world to compare to this intimacy.  If his Gregory were of the vampire race, they could both share the experience, at least for comfort and arousal, if not for nourishment, for vampire blood offered nothing along that line to their own people, but… the thought of his Gregory doing this to _him_... it was nearly a spiritual thing.

Careful not to take too much, Mycroft eventually drew away from his lover and made certain to heal the wounds so Lestrade did not have to bear the pain in addition to the suffering he already endured while confined to this cell.  Holding his husband gently, the vampire nuzzled his beautiful neck and enjoyed the rich scent of love perfuming the air.

      “I’ve missed that terribly, love.”

      “As have I.  The sensuality of the act expresses so passionately what I carry always in my heart for you.”

      “And I’m delicious.”

      “That, too.”

The couple quickly hushed their completely un-toddler-like giggling and Lestrade turned to give his husband a long and tender kiss.

      “I love you, Mycroft.  I never thought the first night we met that I’d be here, now, married to the stunning fellow who stepped out of the shadows like a phantom.  I thought you were… you took my breath away, actually, even though I was ready to throw a punch if you tried anything.  Except kissing.  I was all for you stepping out of the shadows and starting something along _those_ lines.”

Mycroft smiled and remembered that very first night, when he was nearly struck dumb by the beauty of the man sitting by the fire, beckoning him forward like the most potent of spells.

      “Had not Sherlock been present to serve as chaperone, I am not certain such would not have occurred.  You were positively bewitching.  As still you are.”

Another long kiss warmed both husbands very nicely and it was only the notion of time passing that made Lestrade bring it to an end and smile regretfully.

      “The constables don’t bother us, but they _do_ check now and then.”

      “My time is over, I take it?”

      “Not by choice, but I don’t want you to get in trouble or have them stop our visits.”

Mycroft scowled, but it held no real heat, because his spouse was correct.  So close to the finish, there was no reason to tempt Fate.  Transforming back to a vapor, Mycroft made his way back across the bars and solidified with the same scowl still on his face.

      “My poor Mycroft… you’re so cute when you’re frustrated.”

      “I am ever hoping to give you a pleasant image upon which to gaze, even when my soul is in turmoil.”

      “All those words to say you like to look pretty for me.”

      “The cake is all the more appealing when it is well-provided with cream.”

      “Now, I’m hungry.”

Mycroft laughed, but mostly to hide the twinge of guilt that cake, with cream, was very likely on the menu for one of his night’s meals, but his dear husband was having to make do with whatever soup and bread was delivered, regardless of quality, quantity or nutritional value.

      “And I am ashamed that I am not able to provide you a banquet of the most exotic delicacies.”

      “That’s alright.  The only delicacy I really want to taste is a bit inappropriate for the situation, though the lads might enjoy watching me on my knees showing my husband a very tasty good time.”

Mists could not have erections, but vampires could and Mycroft was going to have to angle himself quite specifically so his particular train of thought was not visible to any curious constables who might pop in for a look.

      “You are unrepentantly wicked, Gregory.”

      “Problem?”

      “No.  Never, ever will that be a problem.”

      “Good, because I don’t see it changing.  Not with you as my husband. So, have time to visit a little longer or do you need to be home soon?”

Mycroft dragged over his traditional stool and made a very dramatic show of settling in to outwait a siege.

      “I am needed nowhere but here, at least for a few hours, so here I shall stay until it is time for you to rest.”

In truth, he should be racing the identification back to Father, and let his spouse take to bed before sunrise, but his husband’s emotional well-being was the most important thing, now.  His love was trying to hide it but he was devastated anew at the betrayal of those who had called him friend.  This time was best spent reinforcing to his Gregory that he was loved and this love would never abandon him.  Besides, the early rays of dawn would soon be shining through the cell window and his husband was absolutely gorgeous bathed in sunlight…

__________

      “The poor boy…”

Mycroft watched his father lay a hand on his mother’s arm to provide the comfort _he’d_ had to provide his own spouse just hours before.

      “Yes, it was not good for Gregory to learn that someone he knew had information about the fire and did not come forward to present it.”

      “If his reason was not a compelling one, I have little hope for his continued survival after he gives his testimony.”

Mycroft knew that look in his father’s eye and it did not bode well for those to whom it was being directed.

      “You will have him brought here immediately, will you not?”

      “That I shall.  I have a brace of very good men in the area who will ensure he arrives safely and swiftly.”

      “I do hope so, for Gregory worries that the trial will be of short duration and the evidence will arrive too late.”

The look on his father’s face said the thought had crossed his mind, also.

      “If a postponement is needed, I shall make that happen, though, as have discussed, I would rather not tip our hand until the last possible moment.”

      “Agreed.  Do you still believe the justices will agree to a late-day start to the trial?”

      “I do.  As you and I will be intimately involved in the proceedings, it would be unjust to disable our efforts.  At minimum, I would be within my rights to call for a new hearing in a more accommodating region and that is to nobody’s benefit.  When I receive formal word of the trial location, I will certainly make trial timeframe a significant issue for discussion.”

      “Good.  Gregory has been so ill-used by this world… he deserves whatever good fortune we may secure for him.  However, you misspoke.”

      “Did I?”

      “Most certainly.  When _we_ receive formal word of the trial location, _we_ will certainly make trial timeframe a significant issue for discussion.”

Mycroft’s parents shared a look at their son’s politely menacing tone and marveled again that their little boy was now a happily married man.  With the temper to prove it.

      “Of course, how imprecise of me.”

      “You are forgiven, provided there is no further warning needed on this matter.  Now, I promised to apprise Sherlock as to Gregory’s and my discussion, so if you will excuse me.”

Mycroft glared at his parents and strode out of the room, thankfully not hearing the laughter that erupted in his wake.

      “He’s going to make a wonderful husband.  Rather reminds me of you when we were first married.”

Mummy Holmes smiled at her husband, hoping he caught the thread of her thinking and gave an inner shout when he smiled back at her.  Very devilishly.

      “That was a very… vigorous time in our lives.”

      “It was.”

      “Even now, I enjoy a bit of _vigor_ before I retire for the morning.”

      “I know.  And, the exercise does a magnificent job of keeping my figure trim and limber.”

      “Something _I_ well know.  Shall we say the first one to our bedchamber is in charge for the evening?”

      “Oh, a contest.  You know I find competition arousing, you horrid thing.”

      “Yet one more reason I find you entrancing, my beloved.”

At the unsounded signal, the couple began running for the study door, each trying desperately to cheat so that the other would win.  A night being worshipped by the one they loved?  There was no greater prize worth fighting, or cheating for…

__________

      “Ah.  John.  You are still here.”

Mycroft’s inner child threw a volcanic tantrum, though he kept his features as placid as the surface of a calm lake.

      “Try not to sound so happy about it.”

      “Easily done.  May I ask what you two have found to occupy yourselves while I have been with Gregory?”

      “Stuff.”

      “Thank you, John.  Sherlock, will you provide the details necessary for a proper response?”

      “No.”

Was there an ancient god that he had offended at some point?  An air spirit he had angered during an evening’s flight?  How much ire did he have to provoke to deserve _this_?

      “It is far too long into morning for me to have patience for your willful contentiousness, brother dear.”

Sherlock huffed, especially smelling the decided fatigue and smoldering irritation in his brother’s blood, and threw his hands in the air.

      “Fine!  Force my confession if you must!  John and I have been attempting to modify the enlargement spell I recently learned so that it affects elves.”

      “Have you met with success?”

      “John is again in possession of feet properly sized to fit his shoes, so I shall score that as a passing mark.”

At least, lacking fully-functional locomotory appendages, Mummy’s jewels had likely been safe from the small thief.  Which did raise a point to be settled…

      “Very fair, I am certain.  And I have no doubt that John’s continued presence is in no small part due to his anticipation of payment.  I shall, of course, honor my debt, if you but give me a moment to collect your fee.”

If he had been a second quicker turning away, Mycroft would have missed the flash of hurt on John’s face, but he wasn’t, and it laid a lash against his tongue for his words.  John had been contracted, that was unquestionable, but the boy _had_ shown concern beyond the bounds of the assignment, so his assertion had been, perhaps, unkind.  And, from Sherlock’s escalating anger, the ‘perhaps’ should likely be dropped from his thinking, as well.

      “I am sorry, John, for I realize I chose my words poorly.  You have demonstrated an honest commitment and dedication to our cause and shown true concern for Gregory and his dilemma.  I will, naturally, see you recompensed as promised, but do not believe that I fail to recognize your assistance has been based on more than the lure of money.”

John and Sherlock seemed somewhat mollified by Mycroft’s contrition, but the older vampire made a vow to show greater care when speaking to the young elf, difficult though it may be.

      “Now, it is quite late and I am certain that John should already be on his way home, so… perhaps you should discontinue any further experimentation until John returns for his next visit.”

There.  That was a concession, was it not?”

      “I leave when I want to!”

And accepted with the elf’s usual good grace.

      “Given that a forcible ousting is completely within my ability, I will instead remind you that the sun is already up and has been for some time.  Might you be missed by this hour?”

John blanched and Mycroft actually took a step forward to try and steady the little elf.

      “It’s that late?  Why don’t you have any windows in this stupid lab, Sherlock!”

      “So I may work into the morning without worry of using Mrs. Hudson’s burn cream, which Mycroft is too tight-fisted to lay in a proper supply!”

      “I’m going to be in trouble!  My mum is going to be worried and…”

John broke off and looked so distraught that Mycroft’s heart softened just a bit from its normally stony condition.  One second prideful and pugnacious, the next a typical small boy.  Very much like another child Mycroft knew quite well.

      “Mycroft shall prepare an apology for failing to notify you of the lateness of the hour.  If he had but duly discharged his responsibility, this situation would not exist.”

A child whose throat begged for a hand tightly wrapped around it.

      “I completely fail to see how any of this is my fault, brother dear.”

      “That is not surprising, for your level of intellect is that of a shriveled twig from a diseased tree.”

      “That means you’re dumb.”

      “Thank you, John.  Your translation services are not required.  However, because of your stalwart support of Gregory, I shall gladly escort you home and provide an explanation for your absence.  However, I do insist we leave very shortly as I am very anxious to see my own bed so that I am rested for the evening and whatever news we hear about Gregory’s trial.”

      “You think we shall be informed tonight?”

Sherlock attempted to maintain a slightly disinterested expression, but Mycroft easily observed the concern in his brother’s features.

      “I do.  The messenger should arrive today and I imagine word would be sent to Father and myself with no delay.”

The two boys shared a nod and Mycroft could only hope that was not a cementing of some elaborate escape plan to spirit away his husband should the news unexpectedly be poor.

      “Then, John and I will postpone our planned agenda and recommence tonight.”

      “If my mum doesn’t make me sleep in their room so I can’t sneak out again.”

Sherlock patted John on the shoulder and glared at Mycroft to impress upon his brother that John would be allowed to return in the evening or there would be repercussions.  Profound and long-lasting repercussions…

      “Very well, let us depart.  I shall have a carriage prepared while you and Sherlock say your goodbyes.”

Mycroft smiled and left the boys alone for their last few minutes of this eventful night and the two decided to make very good use of them.

      “So, think we have enough ways to make the snake’s life miserable once Greg’s free?”

      “Our list totals, so far, forty-seven items of mild, moderate and murderous torment, and we had only a short time to formulate our plans.  I am certain we can double that quantity, so that, no matter what situation exists at the conclusion of Lestrade’s trial, we can punish Magnussen to the extent that he sorely deserves.”

      “Good.  We can get most of the supplies we need from Mrs. Hudson and I know where to pick some of the plants you want so we can have those for free.  And there are a few pockets of those rocks you showed me to the west of here and I can get whatever of that you need.”

      “Excellent.  We shall supply our arsenal and be ready for when the time arrives.”

      “So… I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

      “I suppose so.  If you want to return, that is.”

Each boy spent some time examining their shoes, until John finally nodded and looked up from his feet.

      “Ok, then.  Let’s go find Mycroft so I can go home.  I hope he can do something so I don’t get in trouble.  My mum actually did say if she caught me sneaking out again, I’d have to sleep in their bedroom every night and my dad’s snoring sounds like an angry boar.”

      “Mycroft has few uses, but flinging words _is_ one of them.  If anyone could ameliorate the situation, it, unfortunately, would be him.”

      “Even if he’s a pervert and a bit dumb?”

      “There is that, I must confess.”

      “I’ll say I _hope_ I see you again tomorrow, then.”

      “Yes, better err on the side of caution.”

__________

      “Why couldn’t Sherlock come with us?”

      “If you would like to deal with him when he has burned to a crisp and is truly in a foul temper, then I shall broach that with him the next time this trip is warranted.”

      “No, thank you.  He’s loony enough, as it is.  Crispy and loony is something I don’t need.”

John sat quietly for a moment, but the vampire was very well aware there was something on his mind, ready to spill out of his mouth.  As it happened, Mycroft didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was.

      “So, Mycroft… that new house of yours… Sherlock is really going to have the entire cellar to live in?”

Ah, hoping to set hooks into new territory, are you, villainous thief?  This night was certainly replete with its fair share of high and low points…

      “Not exactly.  He may use the space when he visits, but if my brother is laboring under the impression that he shall be a permanent member of Gregory’s and my household, then he is, as you termed it, loony.”

Yes, flash frustrated disappointment in those conniving little eyes of yours, my dearest John.  I shall not spend the next century as parent for two rabid badgers posing as children.

      “That’s what I thought.  His mouth is bigger than his brain.  But… it is a nice house.  I like all the marble.  It’s not boring like a lot of houses.”

Mycroft found a flattering John more worrisome than a fractious one, but decided to ignore the shift in approach in hopes the pleasant words would stick in the elf’s throat and render him mute for the remainder of the journey.

      “I am happy you find it agreeable.  Gregory, also, finds it to his taste.”

      “Sure, because it won’t burn down easily if he sets it on fire.”

The vampire’s squawk prompted John to jump across to Mycroft’s seat and try to give him a pat on the back to start him breathing again.

      “Didn’t you even think of that?  You really are dumb.”

No, he had not given that particular issue any thought.  His husband surely had, though… there was no chance that his lover had not pondered that point in harsh, troubling and extensive detail.  It was to his own discredit that he had not spent any time reflecting on the future implications of his husband’s abilities and the steep measure of fear and anxiety his Gregory would continue to bear until some solution could be had.  Sloppy… terribly sloppy thinking and certainly not appropriate for a husband of any appreciable quality.  Fortunately, there _was_ hope, so perhaps his failure could be kept his own little secret.

      “As you are keen to remind me at every turn.  In truth, I had not turned much attention to the subject for Mrs. Hudson is of the belief she can rid Gregory of his curse.”

      “Oh.  Well, that would be good.  It’s amazing what he can do and I still think he could make a lot of money from it, though he’s as dumb as you and won’t do anything that’s not legal, but… he could _really_ hurt someone, even though he didn’t want to.”

There was another look in John’s eyes and this one Mycroft recognized, because he had seen the same sadness in his husband’s often enough.

      “And has.  Gregory’s family suffered significantly through the years because of his talent, though their hearts never shut him out.  They must have loved him very, very dearly and I wish I could have had the chance to know them.”

      “Really?  Sherlock didn’t tell me that part.”

Mycroft scarcely hesitated laying a hand on John’s shoulder because the sadness in the boys’ eyes deepened and there was no denying it was a real and very impactful thing for the elf.

      “He likely wanted to spare you any upset.”

      “Or make me think Greg was actually guilty.”

Sadness or not, John was nothing if not practical, it seemed.

      “That may also have factored into things.  Unfortunately, that fact shall be made known, I have no doubt, at Gregory’s trial and we can only hope this community does not hold against him what he was unable to control or change.”

      “You really think Mrs. Hudson can help him?”

Damn the elf!  He should not pitch his voice with such a concerned tone!  There was to be no further softening of the heart and that was simply the final word on the subject.

      “It is my fondest wish for I know how terribly this preys on Gregory’s mind.”

      “I’ll remind her.  Make sure she keeps working on it.  Greg’s going to get out of jail and then he shouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore, especially hurting people.”

Mycroft made no comment about John’s budging a little closer to him, but rededicated himself to ensuring that the boy was not punished to any severe degree for his absence from home.  It was only fair for the service he had performed and… if he was banned from returning to their home, Sherlock would be terribly upset.  Just for this one morning, he would allow himself to believe that was something to be avoided.  After a good day’s rest, all of this ridiculous sentiment will have passed, in any case, and such indulgences would be a thing of the past.

__________

Mycroft yawned widely and got that out of his system before he stepped up to the tidy cottage in an area of the woods he had not taken the time to explore in any depth, despite seeing it on a map many times.  As John hid behind him, the vampire gave a few quick raps on the door and tried to smile as pleasantly as possible when a small woman answered, wearing a very worried look on her face.

      “Yes?”

      “Good day, madam.  I believe this is yours?”

Reaching behind to grab hold of the elf, Mycroft dragged John out for his mother to see and smiled at her tremendous joy _and_ wrathful displeasure at the revelation.

      “John!  Where have you been?  You know you’re not supposed to sneak away at night!  Oh, I am so sorry, sir, for whatever trouble he’s caused you.  It’s not… the trouble wasn’t too expensive, was it?”

Mycroft glared down at John, who was doing his best not to look at anyone right now and wondered how often John’s parents had to pay when the boy had not been as successful in his misdeeds as with his mission tonight.

      “I am happy to say that the situation is nothing of the sort.  John has become a firm friend to my brother, Sherlock, and it is to my shame that we invited him to dine with us and did not offer the reminder that he must first receive your permission.  As we dine at an hour that would be considered quite early in the morning for you, he was required to leave your lovely home before the sun rose.”

Mycroft took a moment to let his fangs drop and credited John’s mother with only the smallest of gasps at his revelation.

      “I take full responsibility for any trouble this has caused you and hope that you do not chastise John overly harshly for his small lapse in good judgment.  I have reminded him quite sternly that a visit to our home should be, at minimum, be accompanied by a note stating his whereabouts, though, of course, asking your permission before departing is the right and proper thing to do.”

John stared open-mouthed at Mycroft and had to admit that Sherlock was right about him and the word-flinging because his mum suddenly didn’t look nearly like she was going to make him help her with the spinning and weaving for the next week or two.  _And_ wear the ugly hats and jumpers she made when he went into town.

      “Oh!  Oh, well… John has a friend?”

And the confirmation that John was as solitary, and lonely, a boy as Sherlock came roaring up to stare Mycroft dead in the eyes.  The hopefulness in the woman’s voice was really its own word on the subject.

      “That he does.  They became acquainted through a chance encounter and have taken quite the liking to each other.  It was a most onerous task to separate them this morning to bring John home and, again, I apologize for your worry.  We often lose track of the time as other species perceive it and forgot what his absence from his own breakfast table would mean to his parents.”

The second of whom had joined them at the door and was slowly losing the obvious anger that was flowing like waves off of him towards John, who was trying to slip behind Mycroft again for protection against the heat.

      “That’s very kind of you Mr….”

      “Holmes.  Mycroft Holmes, at your service.”

The shared look between the elf pair said the name wasn’t an unfamiliar one to their ears.

      “The same Holmes that lives in the castle?”

      “You knew who lived there!  Why didn’t you tell me vampires lived there?”

John peeked out from behind Mycroft’s legs to snarl at his father, then scurried back when a paternal hand reached out to try and snag his collar and drag him into the cottage.

      “Because you didn’t need to know and I would think you would be minding your tongue, given the amount of trouble you’re in right now for putting a scare into your mother and me.”

      “Sorry, Mum.”

      “And me?”

      “You can have half of hers.”

The fact that the elves actually worried about their lost son began to boggle Mycroft’s mind, now that fatigue was doing its job of wiping away his pesky sentiment.

      “That’s enough out of you, young man.  Bothering our landlord like this…”

Something that had crossed the vampire’s mind as he learned where John’s cottage actually sat.  He had, of course, tenants on the tracks of land he personally owned, but Father usually collected the rents and put them in his accounts after the fact.  Yes, he’d been a bit lazy as a landlord, however, Father was more than willing to do the meddlesome business of dealing with tenants and if it made him happy, who was _he_ to protest?  Now, however, that would need to change as his Gregory would never forgive him handing off the more tedious aspects of land ownership when it was his responsibility to see them through.  His husband’s work ethic was certainly bothersome, at times…

      “WHAT!  The pervert is our landlord!”

      “John!  What has gotten into you!  I’m so sorry, sir, he was raised better than that…”

John dodged another grabbing by his father and scooted around to the other side of his fanged barricade.

      “Be of good cheer, madam… it is simply a little jest, though, perhaps, not in the most mature of taste.  And I do hope, to my very depths, that he shall not be prohibited from continuing his visits to our home.  My brother would certainly be greatly distressed as, I feel, would John.  Perhaps…”

Should he?  He should.

      “… you might do my family and I the honor of a visit so that you might see that John’s presence is very welcome and that Sherlock greatly enjoys his company.  Might you be free tomorrow evening?  We breakfast at the hour most others take their evening meal and would be most delighted to have you join us.”

John’s frantic pounding on his back and loudly whispered ‘NO!’ made the vampire grin even more ingratiatingly and he mentally did a little dance when the elves shared a look then smiled back at him.

      “My husband and I would be happy to visit!  I’ve heard very good things about your mother from Martha and… well, she gardens, does she not?”

Oh no.  Or… oh, yes!  Another body between him and the garden.  Father, also, would be most pleased… John may have actually sent his accounts into the black for this boon.

      “That she does and loves nothing more than to discuss her gardens and show them off to interested visitors.”

      “Plants!  Not more plants!”

John fell onto the ground as if he’d caught an arrow in the chest and his father used the opportunity to grab him by the ankle and drag him indoors, making his goodbyes to Mycroft as they disappeared inside the cottage.

      “That does sound lovely; I’m certain we’ll have a wonderful time.   And… don’t fret about John.  He’ll get a stern lecture and have to do extra chores for awhile, but… well, he’s a special boy, isn’t he?”

An argument that Mycroft understood very, very well.  Not a bad boy, if he was forced to admit it, but one who seemed to defy every convention of his people and see not a whit of problem in it.  Very much like his own bothersome sibling…

      “That he is, madam, which matches him well with my brother, as you will learn soon enough.  Now, I must be returning home, but I look forward to seeing you and your husband again tomorrow.”

Mycroft bowed slightly, which made John’s mother smile shyly and darted back to the carriage, rapping quickly to get the driver moving.  Now, he let the massive yawn he’d been holding back erupt loudly and stretched as best as he could in the vehicle before laughing and rubbing his hands.  Sherlock was going to be apocalyptic… cooed over and paraded about with John all evening for parental amusement.  Patience… as he always knew, patience had its rewards and this reward would be especially sweet…


	23. Chapter 23

      “How delightful!”

Mummy Holmes practically danced with glee and that made Mycroft’s revenge against his pestilent brother and the rabid rat he called a friend all the sweeter.

      “Intolerable!”

      “One of your tenants, you say?  A very interesting piece of information.”

Oh goody, Father also seemed intrigued.  Sherlock’s doom was sealed.

      “I forbid it!”

      “So thoughtful of you, Mycroft dear.  And you say John’s mother is a plant enthusiast, also.  This shall be a marvelous evening.”

      “Is no one heeding my objections?  I shall not allow this!  Not if taken by the Sun itself, clasped to its burning bosom and ordered to comply!”

      “Oh, I do apologize, brother dear.  Were you saying something?”

Sherlock snarled and hurled himself upon the sofa in his father’s study, glaring his most ferocious glare at the people with whom it was his extreme misfortune to share a name.

      “Sherlock, you are being quite silly.  We shall have a lovely time with John’s parents and, once they recognize that you belong to a family of good character, I am certain they will be eager to have your and his friendship continue and support your visits here or at his home.”

      “I have no interest, Mummy, in spending my valuable time in John’s miniscule hovel.”

      “That is an appallingly arrogant thing to say, young man.”

      “Did you not, Father, just last night, speak of the chosen living conditions of the goblin pack to the north as, and I quote ‘subpar by even the most lax of interpretations? ‘”

      “Well… yes, however…”

      “AND then continue on to say that this was actually appropriate because they were beastly and base creatures who scarcely had one functional brain to pass amongst the population?”

      “I… something of the…”

      “AND that the shared brain lived in the same box as the single bar of communal soap?”

      “THANK YOU, Sherlock.  I may have been a bit harsh in my description of our upcoming trade delegation, but… they live in dank, dismal caves and smell of pigs long dead under the hot summer sun!  Really, there is no manner in which that can be politely stated.  That is not, however, the situation with John and his family and you are well aware of the fact.”

      “Your hypocrisy galls me.”

Stepping in before Sherlock’s _bottom_ could be galled to the point of redness, Mycroft loudly cleared his throat and drew attention back to the subject at hand.

      “I take it preparation of food will not be an issue?”

      “The elves are quite the lovers of a good meal, from what I’ve been told, but do confine their diets to the various plant species.  That should make for a bracing challenge to Cook and I, for one, am most interested in tasting a fully plant-based meal.”

The three male groans were dismissively waved off as Mummy’s mind happily skipped into the arena of place settings, table decorations, appropriate manners of dress and all the other wonderful details that made a breakfast/dinner party successful.  And this one _needed_ to be a success… Sherlock was going to behave dreadfully and something was going to have to convince John’s parents that her son was not the horrific influence that he was painting himself.  His and John’s friendship could depend upon it and… Sherlock needed this.  As, from what she could see, did John.  Each desperately needed a friend and not even her evil-spirited offspring was going to wreck his one chance at having someone in his life who realized what a special and unique boy was he and managed to like him, nonetheless.

      “Now, let me tend to matters and, Sherlock, why don’t you go and think of something special for you and John to do tomorrow night?  I know his parents will want to see your lab, so you might also do a bit of tidying so it doesn’t look so much like a goblin cave.”

Sherlock’s immediate retort was squelched by the predatory look in his father’s eye, as he waited for the boy to undo his entire hypocrisy argument with the usual rant on the superiority of… himself… compared to every other living creature on Earth.

      “I… shall use the time to secure materials that are particularly lethal when handled inappropriately.  I know, for certain, that the elves lack sufficient intelli… lack sufficient _training_ to properly handle the equipment and supplies in my lab and their untimely death would most certainly be blamed, erroneously, on me.”

The look of disappointment on his father’s face at least cheered up the small vampire, who beamed a victorious smile at his sire and made a grand show of leaving the room.

      “There, there, my dear… he foiled you this time, but you are far further ahead in score than is Sherlock.”

Mycroft smirked as his mother gently patted his father’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheek.

      “Mycroft, cheer your father while I prepare for tomorrow, would you?  Oh!  And do bring Gregory a jacket tonight when you visit?  My roses are tilting a certain way that always signals the coming of a spell of cool nights and the poor dear hasn’t anything warm to wear, I suspect.”

Something that cut straight to Mycroft’s heart and erased the lightening it had felt with Sherlock’s bedevilment.  As his mother left the study, he could only hope that her good spirits were something he could come, again, to share.

      “Soon, son.  He will be home soon.”

      “Such is my hope, but… has there been word?”

The twinkle in his father’s eye did much to drag Mycroft’s heart back from the blackness and he watched with great interest as the older vampire crossed to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper.

      “There has.”

Handing it over and taking great care to have his hands out of the way of his son’s lightning-quick grab, Mycroft’s father took the opportunity to pour himself a glass of good port and, after a moment’s thought, another for his son.

      “The trial will be here.”

      “Martha was correct, which, to my indigestion, she usually is.”

The trial would be _here_ … that would be a welcome balm to his husband’s troubled mind.

      “But…in three days time?  That gives us almost no opportunity to craft a defense, to discuss with our supporters their testimony… to find and interrogate the one witness we most require to secure Gregory’s freedom!”

Mycroft accepted the offered port and forced himself not to swallow it one gulp.

      “It _is_ a short timeframe, I agree, but not unexpected.  The charge is serious and one that is highly disturbing to any sensible mind.  They wish to see the matter settled quickly so the community can rest easy one way or another.  It is understandable, really, it simply works against us, in this instance.”

      “What do we do?”

      “First, we obtain an extension.  Though the proposed timeframe is understandable, that does not mean it is equitable and that shall be the fundament of our argument.  I suspect we can easily broker a few days, but more than that will have the taint of influence upon it and we must keep such to a minimum.  Already, though, the word has been dispatched to find this witness and have him brought here, by whatever means necessary.  And, the individuals I have in the area are quite proficient at employing the most… convincing… of means to discharge their duty.”

      “We shall, then, approach the magistrates tomorrow?”

      “We shall, however… I think it wise it not be ‘we.’ “

The hot flare in Mycroft’s eyes glowed brighter than the room’s fire, which was actually his father’s point.

      “Explain yourself and pray it suits me.”

      “You are explaining for yourself.  Though I think it will be relatively easy to bargain a few days delay to the start of Gregory’s trial, the bargaining will, unquestionably, be rife with posturing that will sit ill with you and it will not do our case any good to have you on trial, as well, for murder of the magisterial wing of what passes for human law in this region.”

      “I would do no such thing!”

      “You would and we both know it.  The various influential members of the community know well their influence is at my discretion, however, they do not enjoy admitting that fact.  You have not had to sit through their dreary affected airs as have I and will not handle well what they and I know is a wholly fabricated confidence and whiff of disrespect.  They know their pantomime and know I know it, also, but, that will not lessen its effect on you, I’m afraid, in your newly wedded state.”

      “You dare claim I lack self-control!”

      “No, the shattered glass and port stain on the rug does.  Do clean that up, son, before your mother sees it.  You know how cross she becomes at stains and I really do not have the energy to sit through interviewing a hundred new rugs to replace the one she has now deemed irreparable.”

Mycroft looked down at his hand and sheepishly deposited the glass fragments in the waste bin by his father’s desk.  Perhaps his tempers _were_ a bit volatile for this particular discussion.

      “Good boy.  Now, after you’ve dabbed at the port for awhile, think about what I’ve said and remember that, at the trial, we cannot afford any outbursts that might set the tone against us.  I can assure you that Charles, and any he might bring in to support his side, will assert many slanderous and heinous things against Gregory and, again, you must maintain your composure throughout.  I believe, now, I shall go and try to find your mother and try to convince her away from weeds and sticks for tomorrow’s breakfast.  Surely the elves cannot take offense if I enjoy a bit of venison or perhaps a nice roasted chicken?  That would be highly unsporting of them and I have heard they are a polite and accommodating people…”

Catching the blotting cloth his father tossed him, Mycroft made quick work of cleaning the spill and remained on the floor afterwards thinking about the oncoming storm.  He would dearly love to say his father was being overly cautious but, in his heart, he knew that was not the case.  Hearing lies and slander about his husband… the urge to shove the words back into the offending throats would be overpowering.  He had endured countless personal insults and insults about his people from across a negotiating table, but for his Gregory... for his Gregory that situation would be intolerable.  Perhaps a small word with Mrs. Hudson about the matter might be in order.  If she could work such wonders with a small ring, surely there was a bauble or potion to keep the temper of one, single vampire in check.  And wasn’t he fortunate that her shop was in very easy access at any time of the day or night…

__________

      “Oh, thank heavens…”

Mycroft watched his spouse lean against the bars of the cell and let what appeared to be a torrent of worry leach from his body.

      “You were still worried, my dear?”

      “Mycroft, very little has ever gone right in my life, besides you… I wasn’t really inclined to place a great deal of faith in getting lucky this time.”

      “No… I suppose you would not.  But, we have crossed that particular bridge and now can lay that worry to rest.”

      “You really think your dad will be able to get a few extra days before we start.”

      “I do.  That he asks is really a formality because, if he wishes, he can withdraw permission to have even this jail upon his property and send everyone away with but the clothes on their backs.”

      “That wouldn’t be good though, would it?”

No, not at all.

      “It might upset relations between our species to some degree.”

      “You mean to a massive degree, don’t you?”

      “If you want to quibble semantics.”

      “I’m known for my quibbling skills.”

      “I shall add that to your portfolio of attributes at the earliest opportunity.”

      “Mycroft…”

      “Very well.  It would be catastrophic, in many regards.  We have built many bridges and there exists a peaceful equilibrium that would be destroyed here and would weaken that in other regions.  It has been the accepted rule of law that the various races enact justice amongst their own, unless a crime is committed against another people, where the jurisdiction is negotiated between both races.  As this was entirely a human crime, Father’s interference would be looked upon very poorly.  There is much he can do, do not fear, but, no… he would not imperil the peace we enjoy with such a capricious act.  For true cause, yes, but not because the justices were acting wholly within their rights.”

      “I wouldn’t want him to, either.  Promise me that, love.  Promise me that, no matter what, you won’t risk anything for me.  I know what vampires suffered, I’ve heard the stories and know that there are still a lot of bastards who would love for those times to come back, so, I need to know that if this goes against me, you or your dad won’t do anything that could make that happen.”

      “Gregory… I refuse to promise that I will not protect you in your time of greatest need.”

      “I didn’t ask for that, I just said I don’t want you doing anything daft and bringing back the idiots with torches and stakes.”

      “Which hurt miserably, if Grandfather was to be believed.”

      “That won’t kill you?”

      “Well, if the wood from certain trees is used, there is a _chance_ of mortality.  Failing that, we might be rendered dormant until our bodies can fully purge the toxins and that, unfortunately can take some time.  Years, even.”

      “Learned another new thing!  Always learning new things…”

And handily diverted his mind from the darker topics on hand, which was very much to Mycroft’s liking.  Apparently, Father and Gregory had similar sensibilities.

      “Sherlock is forever bemoaning the fact that Father will not permit him to research that particular topic, though when my brother has been evincing his very worst behavior, Father’s resolve has wavered most perilously.”

      “I bet it did.  Little bastard is handful, but he’s a good lad, at heart.”

And a fortunate opening to another lighthearted topic.

      “Well, we shall see that tested quite thoroughly tomorrow evening.”

      “Oh?  What’s going to happen?”

Mycroft smiled and drew up his usual stool, settling in to regale his husband, in the most humorous manner he could manage, the story of the upcoming breakfast/dinner party.  And, by the ringing of his beloved’s laughter through the jail, he was doing an exemplary job.

      “Oh, that’s something I would dearly love to see.  You’re going to make trouble every chance you get, aren’t you?”

      “Me?  Gregory, I am quite insulted.”

      “Liar.”

      “True.  I intend to make Sherlock and John squirm like worms in a bird’s beak.”

      “Yes!  That’s my Mycroft.  Give them everything back they’ve given to you.  And I want all the stories.”

      “I shall have to restrain myself from racing here the moment we are released from table to regale you with my wealth of tales.”

      “Brilliant.  I can’t wait.  It’s such a wonderful image in my head… all of you around the table having an enjoyable time.  It helps a lot, oddly, knowing you and your family are still having a good life and not simply worrying about me.  That would be a terrible thing… it makes me a lot more relaxed that I don’t have that burden on my shoulders, in addition to everything else.  So, I definitely want all of the stories.  Maybe a few nibbles of the crops you’re going graze on, too.”

      “Already my stomach is rebelling at the idea.  If I do not bleat, moo and cluck by the end I shall be greatly surprised.”

      “I’ll still love you, even if I have to scatter corn on the floor of our bedroom now and then so you can have a snack.”

      “Sherlock would find that a highly appropriate suggestion.”

      “Make him pay for that, too.”

      “Oh, I shall.  I believe the time of reckoning is at hand and brother dear has _so_ many sins for which to atone.”

      “Poor little bugger.  It was nice knowing him.”

      “Such a stellar eulogy for his untimely, shame-based demise.”

      “Cry a little for me, will you?  I’d hate for the funeral to be nothing but laughs and cheers.”

      “Of course.  I shall give your tender-hearted gesture a full six seconds of focus at some point, likely after the first few cases of wine have been consumed.”

      “You’re a good man, Mycroft.”

      “I do try.”

__________

      “Ugh… finally.”

Greg turned towards the voice and found a tiny elf perched on his cell window.  Obligingly, he raised his hand to give John a lift onto the bed, where the boy popped back to his usual size and sat swinging his feet.

      “Out a bit late, aren’t you, lad?  You had a late night last night, too, from what I hear.”

      “I was bored.  And then I got more bored listening to you and the vampire talking about boring, boring things.”

Lestrade’s mind raced through his conversation with Mycroft and was happy that, this once, it hadn’t touched on any topics that were inappropriate for young ears.

      “That’s what marriage does to you.  I used to be swashbuckling and devil-may-care. Every night, I had a boy or girl in one hand and a mug of fine ale in the other.  Of course, that was when I wasn’t having a battle with rogue werewolves or trolls.”

      “If you want to make up a story, try one that isn’t so obviously a big, ridiculous lie.”

      “Yeah, I did make a mess of that.  Oh well, what can I say?  It’s, as I said, _late_ and my brain doesn’t work well when it’s not had much sleep.”

      “You have all day to sleep.  Don’t see me complaining, do you, and I have things to do for my mum and dad AND have a look around for what new… things… might have come into the area.”

      “Don’t steal from people, John.  Some can’t afford to lose even the smallest thing they own.  Believe me… there were times when I had what few things I carried stolen or, better, stolen after someone had beaten the resistance out of me and when you’ve got nothing to your name but what’s on your back, you begin to understand how important even one crude knife can be.”

      “Hey!  I don’t steal from poor people!  I know that’s wrong!”

Lestrade’s heart melted seeing the offense on the boy’s face, but more than that, the upset at hearing a little more about his past.  John put on a very good show of being tough and unsentimental, but that was about as truthful as it was for Sherlock.

      “That’s good to hear, but remember that fortunes can change overnight.  Just don’t forget about the people, John.  Things are things, but _never_ forget about the people.”

That was an ‘I don’t want to think about what you’re saying, but I can’t help but think about what you’re saying’ scowl if Lestrade had ever seen one.

      “Anyway, why don’t you tell me about getting that ring!  Mycroft said you were brilliant and he doesn’t say things like that lightly.”

That wiped the distress off of John’s face and he launched into what was most certainly the long and exaggerated version of the story of his adventure, encouraged at every turn by his audience.

      “Amazing.  That’s absolutely amazing, John.  You have a great deal of talent and between you and Sherlock, you’re going to do some very incredible things.”

The elf puffed up like a courting partridge and soaked up the praise like dry soil soaked up the rain.

      “We’ve got plans.”

Ok… let the boy have his moment and don’t dig into exactly what were those plans, but file the information away for later.

      “I’m certain you do.  And I’m sure I’ll hear about every single one.  As it is, I’d enjoy hearing the story of your dinner with Mycroft and his family tomorrow.  I can tell you from experience that their cook is very good and there’s lots so you don’t have to worry about going hungry.”

      “I guess that part’s alright.  And maybe, once mum and dad have met Sherlock, I can visit earlier without having to sneak out.  Vampires are hard to be friends with, you know… stupid things sleeping all day.  What use is that?”

Lestrade scrambled to answer because his brain had shut off at the word ‘friend,’ because both he and Mycroft had thought it would be a long time before any boy would simply break down and use the word.

      “If it helps, Sherlock will be able to stand daylight more and more as he ages.”

      “I know.  Mycroft didn’t even smoke or crackle when he took me home, which was sort of disappointing.  But that will take forever!”

      “It might seem like that, but it _will_ happen.  And… I admit I don’t know much about elves, but, since you didn’t say you wouldn’t be there to see it, I suppose you live a long time, like vampires.”

      “I guess.  And you know the worst part?  Mum says that when elves die, they stick us in the ground and flowers grow where we're planted.  Those flowers, being flowers, have seeds and pollen and that gets blown around to make more flowers, who make more flowers and isn’t it wonderful being part of the cycle of nature, blah, blah, blah… I can’t even die without there being plants!”

Ok, stay away from the topic of plants.  Got it.

      “Well, flowers aside, it’s good that, if you and Sherlock want it, you can be friends for a very long time.”

      “Of course, that means we have to put up with Mycroft and you all the… oh.”

Poor John, he was finding out about all sorts of unpleasant things tonight, wasn’t he?

      “Greg!  You’re human!”

      “Well spotted.  I thought I’d had it hidden pretty well, so you must have a very sharp eye.”

      “Can’t you _not_ be dumb for one second?”

      “It’s pretty unlikely, I think.”

      “Yeah, you’re probably right.  But…”

      “It’s alright, John.  Like you said – we’ve got plans.”

Not that they’d discussed those plans recently.  One more weight on his shoulders he did _not_ need, nor did Mycroft.

      “Real ones or are you just trying to lie again?”

      “Real ones.  Sort of.  Maybe _options_ is a better word than plans.  Anyway, that’s something for the future.  Right now, I’ve got other problems and, really, I’m sure everything will work out for the best no matter what happens.”

John nodded, but he really didn’t like what he was hearing.  Most humans were pointless and stupid, but Greg wasn’t like most humans.  He listened and when he said something, it made sense, even if you didn’t want to hear it.  He was nice, too.  Really nice, not fake nice when someone wanted something from you.  Mycroft might have some issues, but he’d actually done something right when he picked Greg as a husband.  If only he’d get to keep him for any real amount of time…

      “Well, I’m going to keep my eye on this.  You and the vampire aren’t the best at thinking, so Teeny Fangs and me are probably going to have to step in and do something.”

      “That makes me feel a lot better.  Thanks, John.”

The little elf nodded proudly and Lestrade coughed to hide the laugh that was threatening to bubble up.

      “We won’t charge too much, either, since you’re Sherlock’s family.”

This time, Lestrade did laugh, then reached over to pick up the piece of word he’d been working.

      “And thank you for this, too.  It’s great for carving.”

      “Is that supposed to be a sheep?”

      “Yes!  See how the right wood makes a difference?”

      “Ugh.  My dad says that all the time.  He makes… toys.”

      “Really?  That’s wonderful!  There’s not much in the world that brings more joy than toys.”

      “Boring.”

      “Well, maybe to some.  Toy making isn’t for everyone, I’m sure.  Working wood is a good skill to have, though. You can make bigger things like furniture, too, or make the furniture you have look a little nicer.  Here, why don’t you show me what you can do?  I bet you have a lot of skills I don’t have and you can teach me a few things.”

Lestrade handed John a fresh piece of wood and his single knife and, after the boy scowled at it, John took the items and began to whittle away.

      “Someone should show you how to do it right, I suppose.  Your sheep is about two strokes of the knife away from being a cow.  Or a rock.”

John got to work and Lestrade settled back to watch and lend an ear to the boy who seemed like he was happy for a bit of relaxed company.  For a child who, likely, hadn’t had much in the way of companions before, falling into the Holmes family had to be a little overwhelming, something he well understood.  Some time, now and then, to just sit quietly and enjoy a simple thing like reading or carving a bit of wood was good for the soul.  And, what boy, human, elf or vampire didn’t want to show off their talents when they had the chance…

__________

      “Are you certain, Father?”

      “Must we trod this road again?  Already the imprints from your foot-stamping have left it pitted and unfit but for the most massive and lumbering of carts.”

      “Amusing.  I simply… I was simply ascertaining if your mind had changed on the subject.”

      “Go to bed, Mycroft.  Go to bed, sleep well and prepare yourself for tonight’s grand grass feast.”

      “Mother is not moving on the issue?”

      “She is immovable as the coming of the dawn.”

      “Glorious.  I shall pay a visit to the kitchens beforehand so I do not starve.”

      “Oh good, then I’ll see you there.”

Mycroft heaved a large sigh as his Father took his leave from the study and turned towards his bedroom to follow paternal advice.  A good day’s sleep was very much called for.  A bounty of paper to ponder concerning certain delicate matters of politics and business and his dear love to entertain, which was, by far, the more important of the two concerns, had left him most fatigued and, since Sherlock had yet to summon anything pesky from the blacker dimensions, there was nothing standing between him and his bed.

Which met with Mycroft’s head in very rapid fashion.  The changing into nightclothes, the greeting of his tiny surrogate husband and laying him gently on the proper pillow, the climbing between the fresh and cleanly-fragrant sheets… naught but a heartbeat.  Tonight, though, his diminutive spouse earned an additional goodnight kiss and a fond stroking of hair, some of which actually belonged to his full-size love.  Despite everything, they _were_ moving closer to bringing his Gregory home.  To this bed.  Into his arms.  That was certainly deserving of an extra kiss for tiny Gregory, was it not?  Perhaps, by magic, it would fly to his lover and land upon those most entrancing of lips.  Or, better yet, conjure the real thing to enjoy the warmth and comfort of their temporary marriage bed.  Oh well… for this very thing were dreams created, were they not…

__________

Oh, and this dream was luscious, indeed… his bed rich with the scent of his husband, warmed by the heat of both Gregory’s exquisite body and unwavering love.  And how fortunate that this dream was so utterly vivid and his fingers could actually caress that heat and feel the familiar texture of the skin he craved to touch every moment of every night since they first met.

      “Hello, love.”

      “My beloved spouse… thank you for being here to share my sleep.”

And do kiss me so tenderly, with a hint of thankful desperation that fills my heart to the point of bursting, my darling dream husband.  You are ever so kind and caring.

      “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here, love.  I just don’t have the words.”

      “Words are unneeded when one inhabits the world of dreams, my dearest.  Simply let your body tell the tale.  Now… OW!”

Mycroft stared at the reddening mark on his pinched arm and then at the hand that made it, then at the face of the person who owned the hand that made it.

      “G… Gregory?”

      “Had a bit of a fright when I saw you replaced me, but I decided that this wee fellow didn’t quite have what it would take to put a sexy smile on your face, so I was probably safe.”

Now the dream was waving his tiny husband at him!  He was bewitched!

      “Mycroft… are you alright?”

      “Gregory?  You are really here?”

Lestrade set aside his miniature doppelganger and took his husband in another long and tender kiss.

      “You’re not dreaming, love.  It’s me.”

      “B…but… how?”

      “Your dad!  From what I understand, and he talked a lot about negotiating techniques and ‘befuddling lesser minds’ so I got a bit lost now and then, but he traded a few extra days time for having me come home so I could be more help preparing my defense.  I think if I run away, Sherlock has to take my place in jail, or something like that, but I don’t plan on going anywhere, so you’re stuck with the little sod.”

Mycroft was very happy he was in his Gregory’s arms, because he felt certain his joy would burst him apart if nothing held him together as a whole.

      “Father secured your release?”

      “Is your head alright, love?  Have a knock recently I don’t know about?”

      “I… oh, Gregory…”

This time it was Mycroft who started the kiss, but Lestrade was quick to respond and draw his husband as close as possible to feel the lovely coolness of his long, graceful body.

      “My beloved, beloved husband… I cannot begin to describe how horribly I missed you here.”

      “And _I_ can’t begin to describe how desperately I wanted to get back to you.  I may only have had the smallest taste of how wonderful you are, but that was enough.  I don’t ever want to be anywhere but here with you, love.  This is my home now… wherever you are is my home and I couldn’t be happier for it.”      

Not as happy as Mycroft.  Nobody in the history of time could be as happy, in Mycroft’s opinion, as him.  Not in any universe, not in any species… his husband was home…

      “And we shall keep you here.  In that, I have full and unequivocal faith.”

Before his dear spouse could express the slightest doubt, the vampire took him again in a long and passionate kiss, reveling in the delight of Lestrade’s form and how beautifully it fit with his.  Except, however, in one area, where their bodies seemed to be expanding rather quickly and required some shifting to relieve the pressure.

      “There aren’t any constables keeping an eye on us now, love.”

Apparently, his spouse had also noticed the aforementioned expanding areas and found them as welcome as did he.

      “No, there are not.  And how might we properly celebrate our unmonitored state?”

      “I can think of a few things.”

      “Only a few?”

      “I was being modest.”

      “And a grand showing you made of it.  Now, do feel free to show me a few of the many, many things you desire to enact upon my very willing and very eager person.

      “It would be my…”

      “THE CONVICT HAS ESCAPED!!!!”

The twin hurled pillows bowled Sherlock over like a pixie kicked by an angry horse.

      “That is assault!”

      “Why in the world are you in my… our… bedroom, Sherlock?”

      “Irrelevant!  Explain the escapee!”

Sherlock tossed the pillows off of him and hopped up to glare at the bed, though neither Mycroft or Lestrade missed the undercurrent of hope in the boy’s eyes that this was _not_ an escape and that his brother-in-law was fully and finally home.

      “I’m a dream.  Go back to bed and I’ll go away.”

      “Your buffoonery betrays you, Lestrade, as does the fact that my brain would no more conjure you in my subconscious than it would an image of Mycroft laying waste to a platter of custard tarts.”

      “For your information, brother dear, Gregory has been returned to us to help prepare his defense for his trial.”

      “Oh.  Well, that is completely boring.  And when shall this occur?”

      “In… oh… Gregory?”

      “Six days.  Really, seven, but today’s already over.”

So, Father had bought them an additional four days and the return of his husband to the bosom of their family.  The man would be positively insufferable after this…

      “A mere week to fabricate some barricade against Magnussen’s charges?  Given the rough-hewn appearance of your wife and his obviously feeble, yet cunning, mind I do not see how that shall, in any manner, be sufficient.”

Mycroft’s rather irritated reply died in his throat as Sherlock moved forward to climb on the bed, something his brother only did when he was truly distressed, though he would swallow pure garlic juice before admitting the fact.

      “It _is_ a short interval, I admit, however, the original schedule of three days would have been far more formidable to battle against.  Already, Father has men working to find and bring to us our witness and we have a list, a growing list, of individuals eager to bear witness to Gregory’s character and good heart.  It is not a great deal of time, but it will be enough.”

Mycroft smiled at both his husband and his brother in what he hoped was a confident and comforting fashion and heaved his own internal sigh.  Time was short, however, their commitment was supreme, so they _would_ prevail.  There was simply no other choice.

      “Then I shall spearhead the efforts to maximize the effectiveness of the yokels’ speeches.  The manner in which they mangle basic language is deplorable and how shall the judges understand their lauds and accolades when they might as well be listening to a gaggle of geese!”

Oh joy, Sherlock wanted to be helpful in his own, special way.

      “That’s good of you, lad and I’m sure when Mycroft or your dad talks to them, you can be there taking notes or something so you can make suggestions to pass along.  That’ll be very useful and your notes could really help your brother and you dad get things just the way they want them.  Just the way that will work best when people have to speak to the magistrates.”

Could his love for his spouse ever reach its apex?  How easily he could both lovingly and productively manage Sherlock’s unique nature.

      “Yes!  I shall collect reams of data for analysis and pray my conclusions and directives are followed to the letter!”

      “I will discuss the matter with Father at the earliest opportunity, brother dear.  Now, if you would but take yourself away to… anywhere… Gregory and I would have together some time to reacquaint ourselves and…”

      “There is no time for your vulgar displays of lust!  Have you forgotten the social nightmare into which you have hurled me!”

Yes.  Yes, he had.  Drat.

      “Ah… you mean breakfast with John and his parents.”

      “What else might I mean?  Playing fetch the stick with a werewolf pack?”

      “Clichéd, Sherlock.  Do attempt to keep your ridiculous insults at least to some more imaginative standard of vitriol.”

While the boy pouted, Mycroft rubbed Lestrade’s arm in apology for what must be a postponed round of uninhibited sexual decadence.

      “I _had_ forgotten about our guests this evening, my dear.  If, however, you do not feel sufficiently rested to entertain…”

      “Of course I am!  Had a full night’s sleep last night and then a few naps today while you were laying here there like a log.  This should be fun, actually.  John’s a good lad and I’m certain his parents are decent folk.”

      “Fun!  Did your incarceration further impair your intellect?  This shall be a disaster of truly catastrophic proportions.  Mothers shall abound and we must eat weeds!”

      “Love, do I really want to know or is it best I just be surprised.”

      “The latter, likely.  And we should make a start towards that end.  If we are efficient with our time, you might enjoy a hot bath before breakfast and I know how dearly you enjoy such a thing.”

The brightness in his husband’s eyes gave Mycroft his answer before Lestrade said one word.

      “A bath?  Oh… that is an incredibly wonderful suggestion.”

      “Do not expect me to serve as your towel boy!”

      “Oh, are you to be present, brother?  Very well, I suppose Gregory’s and my nudity should come as no surprise to you since you are also numbered amongst the males of the house.”

      “Ugh… I am nearly crippled with disgust.”

      “Then, I am certain you will be completely paralyzed when Gregory and I leave the bed, which we are now to do.”

Twitching the blanket in warning, Mycroft laughed as Sherlock leapt off the bed and sped to the door as if his trousers were on fire.  Which, with his new brother-in-law could actually, someday, happen.

      “It’s definitely good to be home, love.  Though I hope we don’t have to wake up every morning with an audience.”

      “Sherlock does have a rather minimal amount of regard for privacy, I’m afraid.”

      “One day he’ll walk in on something that he didn’t bargain for, though, and that’ll teach him, I suspect.”

      “Then let us do our best to make the likelihood of that happenstance as high as possible.”

      “You won’t get any argument from me.  I’m happy to happenstance with you very chance I get.”

      “I find that a highly agreeable suggestion.  Now, shall I ring for our bath?”

      “I’ll kiss you if you do.”

      “Oh, I do appreciate encouragement.”

      “Make it a really hot bath and I’ll kiss something that isn’t your lips, too.”

Mycroft nearly fell out of the bed grabbing at the bell pull, leaving Lestrade to giggle and begin working up the hem of his husband’s prim and proper nightshirt.  There was _always_ time for a bit of affection, especially when his lover wouldn’t be able to last more than a few minutes, if the already-quickening erection was a gauge of the matter.  Fast, hot, filthy fun… was there a better welcome-home gift than that?  No, no there really wasn’t…

__________

      “Oh, Gregory… look at you.”

Lestrade dutifully accepted the mother-in-law cheek kiss and hug and made a rude gesture at Sherlock who was laughing at him behind his mother’s back.

      “Hope I’m presentable enough for breakfast.”

      “I wouldn’t care if you were wearing a vegetable sack, dear boy, I am simply glad you are here to be able to share our meal.”

Another long hug squeezed the air out of Lestrade’s lungs and his freedom was only secured by a forcible tug from his very helpful husband.

      “Mummy, kindly do not render Gregory unable to enjoy his breakfast because his ribs have been crushed to dust.”

      “Silly thing, as if I would do anything to take away, again, my gardening partner.  Now, let me have a look at you and Sherlock… I believe that will do.”

      “Good, for I refuse to adorn myself with the frippery you prefer simply for John.”

Though Sherlock had, miraculously, combed his hair properly and sported not a single laboratory stain on his clothing, a much-improved attempt at self-grooming than he usually managed for visitors to their home.

      “It is a simple family breakfast, though we host the family of your dear friend, John, and there is no reason to stand on ceremony.”

      “Tell me, Mummy, are we having sausages?”

      “You know very well we are not, Sherlock.”

      “Then it is _not_ a simple family breakfast and I am appalled by your telling of crass untruths.”

Lestrade gave Sherlock a quick thump on the back of his head and the resulting shout of indignation coincided nicely with the announcement that their guests had arrived and Mummy darting off to greet them.

      “This is your fault, Mycroft!  And do not think, not even for a moment, that I will not enact my vengeance upon you in a truly heinous and wrathful manner.”

      “I will mark my calendar.  My dear, shall we?  Mummy shouldn’t be too long bringing our guests in for breakfast, but, she is known to be a tad garrulous at times when meeting new people.  It would not be amiss to be comfortable during their conversations.”

Taking Lestrade’s arm, Mycroft escorted him to the family dining room, with Sherlock trailing behind, complaining throughout the entire journey about his brother’s gross treachery and lack of family solidarity.  None of which the older pair heard to any degree, as their attention was wholly taken by their respective partner and the enjoyment of the moment.  One that was more meaningful now that they knew the pain of having it taken away…

__________

      “John!”

      “What?”

      “Where are you going?”

      “Around to the kitchen.  I can sneak in that way and get Sherlock to go to his lab.  We don’t need to sit there and be bored while the rest of you go on and on about… stuff.”

One small elf was taken firmly by the collar by a paternal hand and dragged the remaining steps to the very sizeable door which, John was happy to note, required his father stretch upwards to reach the knocker.  His glee didn’t last very long, though, as the staff were waiting close by for the visitors so the door opened almost immediately and they were escorted inside to wait for the lady of the house.

      “This… this is rather exactly what I pictured it to be from the outside.”

John rolled his eyes and blew out a frustrated huff of breath.  His mother had been worried all day about what to wear and how to fix her hair and it was just dumb because Sherlock may be arrogant and complained about people a lot, but he really didn’t care if you wore a nice dress or not.  And, from what he could tell, neither did Sherlock’s parents.

      “Yeah, it looks just like the sort of house that people who have gold and diamonds all over the house would live in.”

      “Oh dear…”

This time, John’s huff wasn’t so frustrated.  It leaned more towards the regretful as he wished he hadn’t been quite so evil.

      “But they don’t care about any of that, just so you know.  I mean… they let their son marry the poorest person in the world, so… there.”

That earned John a quizzical look, but his parents had no opportunity to pursue the matter since Mummy chose that moment to announce herself.

      “Hello!  I am so happy that you accepted my son’s invitation.  We were very glad to hear he extended it, as John is a greatly welcome visitor to our home.”

The two elves looked for any indication that the vampire was lying, because _nobody_ welcomed John into their homes.  At least not after the first time they found something missing.  And, they were very relieved that the woman addressing them wasn’t dressed in diamonds and gold, herself.  A very expensive dress, as expected, but nothing… unsettling.

      “Thank you for having us.  We were delighted to hear that John had met someone he took a liking to.”

      “We have the very same delight for our Sherlock.  Please do come with me.  The rest of the family is likely chewing through their napkins.  You know how hungry boys can be.”

That was something the elves understood very well and smiled brightly as their hostess led them towards the dining room, dragging their son behind them.  A son who shrieked the moment they crossed he saw the table.

      “GREG!”

Nearly dragging his parents behind him, John shot forward towards Lestrade who smiled and gave the small, grinning elf a good hair ruffling while John bounced up and down with excitement, much to his parents’ astonishment.

      “You escaped from jail!”

Astonishment turning rapidly to concern.

      “Sorry, lad, but I can’t claim that particular adventure.  Mycroft’s dad got me out so we can work on my defense.”

      “Boring.”

      “That is exactly my opinion.  Lestrade languished in his cell like a lazy bovine and deserves neither praise nor regard for his unambitious conduct.”

John hopped into the empty seat between Sherlock and Lestrade and nodded knowingly at his friend.

      “He’s lazy, that’s for sure.  Good fit for your brother.”

      “Truly they are excellently paired in slothfulness.  And debauchery.”

Lestrade reached over and swatted Sherlock on the back of the head, while Mycroft kicked at the boy under the table, hitting John by mistake who made his displeasure known in somewhat earsplitting tones.  The parental pairs both breathed a sigh of relief that this meal would be precisely like a normal one at their table.  A first meeting always went much more smoothly when there was common ground to tread…

__________

      “Oh, that’s just terrible.  How could anyone believe that Greg could do something so horrible?  It’s just silly and I would swear to that.  Elves know these things, of course, as do mothers…”

John’s mother nodded firmly and had her nodding joined by Sherlock’s mother, leaving the fathers to sigh softly.

      “Unfortunately, my sweet, your testimony won’t do much since you don’t actually know anything first-hand about the situation.”

      “Pfft… if they need an extra voice in support of dear Greg, I’m going to lend them mine and don’t you think I won’t.  You just… tend to your toys and leave this to the womenfolk.”

John laughed and earned two paternal glares for betraying the side.

      “And, do not forget, Martha is on this, as well.”

Another round of maternal nodding, complete with knowing and scheming smiles.

      “How could I?  A wonder, she is.  We should meet for tea and have a chat about this.  One can’t have too many plans…”

      “Mrs. Watson… I do believe between Father and I, the matter in well in hand.”

Mycroft’s heart exploded in his chest from the piercing glares of the room’s two females and felt no surprise when his father utterly failed to rush to his aid.

      “You are the most profoundly stupid individual in existence and I am disgraced that we share progenitors.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  Oh, Mummy… did you, by any chance, gather those drawings of Sherlock in his younger years?  I am certain John’s mother would enjoy seeing them as they are masterful representations of his… adorable self.”

      “I did, actually!  He was such a delightful baby, with that cute pout of his.  Sherlock, show the Watsons your pout.”

Which Sherlock did, in its most forceful presentation.

      “He is certainly a precious one.  Those little cheeks of his… they just begged to be pinched, don’t they?”

Not that John’s mother had a chance to reaching them, since Sherlock slid down in his chair, giving John the chance to steal the rest of the his friend’s breakfast off the plate.

      “Sherlock, don’t slouch.”

      “John, don’t steal Sherlock’s food.”

This time, it was the two oldest males who slid down in their chars, then made a surreptitious exit while their wives handled the remainder of the meal.  They had their own things to talk about and, though it was early for the vampire, he really didn’t have a great deal of problem having a bracing brandy as a post-breakfast treat.  Toys… there was money to be made in toys and elves made the very finest.  Sherlock’s evil little elf friend just might be good for business... between that and keeping Sherlock busy and out of everyone’s hair, he might even be tolerable…

__________

      “I am not going to play my violin!”

      “Stop complaining, brother dear.  We would highly enjoy having our digestion accompanied by a private concert.”

      “You play the violin?  I’m not surprised, Teeny Fangs, it’s a lah-de-dah fancy thing and you’re all about lah-de-dah things.”

      “John Watson, you apologize this instant for being rude!”

      “When I’m rude, I’ll apologize.  The truth isn’t rude, so I’m not doing it now.”

      “Well, just for that… Sherlock, did you know that John is rather talented with the flute?  If you have one about, I am certain he would happy to accompany you with your recital.”

John’s screech nearly, but not entirely, drowned out Sherlock’s scornful laughter and Mycroft snuck his hand into Lestrade’s and gave it a squeeze.  This was a pleasure beyond price.  Sharing family moments together… especially ones where his brother was being abjectly humiliated and dragging the elf down with him.

__________

      “AAAAAHHH!!!!!  I’m blind!”

John’s mother shook her finger at her son, who didn’t see it since his hands were trying to keep his bleeding eyeballs inside their sockets.

      “Hush, John.  Sherlock was a baby when this was drawn.”

      “He’s naked!  It’s perverted and I’m starting to see spots, which is really hard when you’re blind!”

      “Oh look, did I bring my locket that has a drawing of _you_ in it?  See, naked as a newborn kitten… what a plump little rump you had, even when you were still nursing at my breast.”

      “I’m deaf, now, too!  Thanks a lot, Mum!”

      “I, also, am deafened!  And my mind has suffered irreparable damage, which is a crime against society!”

Lestrade patted Mycroft’s head, which had landed on his shoulder as his lover was overcome by a fit of giggles.  This was the best.  Spending family time with his husband, which would soon, also, happen in their own home.  Of course, they’d have to keep Sherlock and John on a leash so their new home wasn’t a pile of marble and timber after a week, but he knew where he could find some strong rope.  Absolutely teeth proof, which was really an important selling point with those two…

__________

      “That was a loud one.”

      “I think it was your Sherlock.  John’s got a slightly rougher tone.”

      “I believe you’re right.  Well, he’ll heal.  Now, how about another brandy?”

Father Holmes waggled the decanter at his new associate and was happy to see the man shared his opinion on fine spirits.

      “I’d like that.  And tell me more about these trade deals you work.  The elves won’t compromise on quality, you know.  We pride ourselves on making the best toys, the _very_ best toys, and we won’t change that for anyone or anything.”

      “And that is precisely what I am counting on.  I refuse to deal in shoddy products, very bad for business, you know, so have no fear that you would have to craft anything you do not feel is in line with your… elfish sensibilities.”

      “Good.  Then I’ll talk to the others and see what they think, but I believe we can reach some agreement.  There aren’t as many children in the region as you might suspect and we do love nothing more than putting smiles on their little faces.”

The sound of two cries of mortification split the air, prompting both men to take a long sip of their drinks.

      “Yes, children… wonderful things.”

      “Truly… a blessing.”

      “And you only have the one, correct?”

      “That I do.”

      “Lucky.”

      “That child _is_ John.”

       “Want more brandy?”

__________

The goodbyes took, in Sherlock and John’s opinion, a hundred thousand years, but, at least, John had permission to stay another few hours and ‘play’ with Sherlock.

      “What wonderful people.  John, dear, your parents are simply marvelous company and I look forward to seeing them often.  In fact, your mother said she will return in a few nights and bring along some plants she feels would complement my gardens nicely.  Isn’t that delightful!”

To the various males in attendance, yes.  Yes, it was.

      “Very good, my dear.  Now, shall we leave the boys alone to go about their business?  And, by boys, I do mean the puppies, because Mycroft and Gregory have other things to discuss and I believe now is as good a time as any to get started.”

      “I am not a puppy!  Only this night I have eaten more bread, porridge, fruit and other shrubs to ensconce myself fully in the kingdom of the herbivores.”

      “Yeah, and I’m not one either!  Puppies are fat and roll around like balls with tiny legs and that’s not me.”

      “The drawing in your mother’s locket tells a different tale.”

Both Sherlock and John prepared their onslaught against the family patriarch, but were turned towards Sherlock’s lab and given swats on their bottoms by a very practical Lestrade.

      “We shall not forget this!”

As the boys marched away, Mummy gave her husband a kiss and whispered something in his ear that put a very anticipatory grin on his face, something Mycroft had no desire to explore in any detail.

      “Alright… I know the two of you are hopeful for time together tonight and I have no intention of denying you, but a few hours of strategizing is certainly not amiss.”

      “I agree, but, afterwards, Gregory and I shall be considered indisposed until such time as I deem it otherwise.”

      “Very well.  Come along, we have much to do.”

Lestrade shook his head and marveled how alike were Mycroft and his father.  It was a good look into the future to see what his husband would be like when they had a number of years to their record.  It wasn’t a bad picture, either, not by any standard.  Especially after what he’d been close enough to overhear Mycroft’s mum whisper to his dad.  If _they_ could be that randy after being together for centuries, the future was going to be a very good place, indeed…


	24. Chapter 24

Every muscle of Greg’s body was sore and that was fantastic from his point of view.  Mycroft and he had made love for what seemed like an eternity and his vampire’s wilder side came storming out the moment they left his dad and had the door closed behind them in the bedroom.  There were a few sets of bites he could feel had been left unattended and, frankly, he didn’t care about the extra soreness because the thought of his Mycroft’s marks on his body was nothing less than delicious.  Those nights and days sitting alone in jail… he’d feared that this, lying in bed with his husband at his side, was something he’d never experience again.  It just wasn’t his luck, but, as always, Mycroft seemed to be the exception to the rule.  

Now, he just had to keep this lucky streak going and, talking to his father-in-law, he had _some_ hope that it could happen.  Mycroft’s dad didn’t sound unsure or worried, at least not about the outcome.  The work to get there, what he would have to endure during the trial… that had been laid out plainly and it wasn’t easy to hear, but he appreciated the honesty.  Right now, he didn’t need or want gentle handling.  He needed to be aware of the reality of the situation and the senior Holmes didn’t mind laying it out for him in bold colors.  Mycroft hadn’t been happy, but Mycroft also didn’t want him to hurt or worry.  That was good, it was what a husband _should_ want for his spouse, but it wasn’t always helpful or practical, by any means.

Tonight he and Mycroft had the whole night to themselves to start learning what it meant to be husbands and share a life with each other.  Of course, his vampire had to actually wake up for that to happen and, right now, it couldn’t be more than a few hours into the afternoon.  Luckily, his lover would have no idea if he had a little read.  Or a snack.  Or borrowed a horse to go to have a few mugs of beer at the tavern.  Someday soon he’d be on Mycroft’s daily schedule but, right now… definitely time to find a good book and a bit of cheese…

__________

Mycroft stretched and adored that his stretch simply entangled him further with his husband’s body.  His husband’s delectably-warm, intoxicatingly-scented body, both aspects of which he was happy to lay here and consume in abundance.

      “Are you sniffing me?”

      “Hmmm?  Oh… yes.”

Lestrade smiled and wondered how Mycroft could enjoy the scent of his body, which hadn’t be more than wiped clean after each round last night’s/this morning’s sex.  Not that he was complaining, of course.

      “Carry on, then.”

Which the vampire happily did, turning his husband this way and that, roaming up, down, across and around his body until he felt certain he had an indelible mental profile of his beloved’s body in a palette that a human might not understand, but to his kind, it was a palette of the most intimate sort.  And he would know, always know, his Gregory’s moods and mind, simply by catching the scent of any region of skin.  A profile from taste would come next and the thought of licking his way across that skin was already making his blood boil.  Fortunately, his Gregory seemed to be reading his mind and his blood was responding in kind.

      “Have you any idea the potency of your aroma, my dear?”

      “Well, you didn’t exactly let me bathe this morning.”

Mycroft giggled into the shoulder he was currently kissing and gave his spouse a swat on his enticing bottom.

      “That was not my meaning, Gregory.  As your flavor enflames my being, so does your scent.  Never have I been graced by any other which has affected me so strongly.”

      “Hmmmm… wish I could have senses like yours.  I do like your smell, I like it a lot, but I know that you experience mine on an entirely different level.  Taste, too, I’m sure.”

      “I do adore your flavor, as I am certain you are well aware.”

Lestrade smiled and wriggled closer into Mycroft’s arms.

      “Oh, I’m _very_ well aware of that.  How many times did you nibble me last night?  I don’t think even you could be that hungry.”

Mycroft smiled and let his fangs drop to run against his husband’s flesh.

      “You would be correct.  I will admit to enjoying profoundly the erotic nature of the act and the added delight of your taste upon my tongue.”

      “I’m certainly not complaining, so feel free to nibble at will.”

      “That I shall.  Though… oh Gregory, how severely do you hurt this morning?”

Mycroft took in the clear bite mark left unhealed on his spouse’s neck and then inspected to find a few more in other, less appropriate, locations that his pleasure-hazed mind had happily ignored during his last scent-based inspection.

      “It’s not bad, really.  I’ve had worse just being out in the world and having this or that happen to me.  My Mycroft was especially lusty last night and that’s something to treasure.”

Lusty?  Mycroft gently caressed Lestrade’s skin and smiled at the insufficiency of the word.  He had been consumed by the need to pleasure his spouse, to place an indelible claim upon him, to take from his willing body every morsel of sensation possible and it was solely because the sun was shining high that they reached the end of their lovemaking for his exhaustion had been undefeatable.  Only with his spouse did his passions and urges rise to such a level and he would not deny the feeling was transformative.

      “How could I _not_ be given it was you sharing my bed.”

      “And we can do it again in the morning.”

Mycroft’s body decided that suggestion was unquestionably an agreeable one and it shrouded his partner as fully as it could to ward off any potential competition for this incomparable man’s favors.

      “I love when you do that, Mycroft, but I also have to piss, so we might have a problem if you don’t give me a way out for a moment.”

      “Ah, yes.  That would somewhat put a damper on our ardor, I’m afraid.”

      “And make you staff fairly unhappy as they changed the linens.  But…nothing says we can’t pick up where we left off once I’m done.”

      I have no objection to that plan.  One moment…”

Mycroft pried his limbs off of Lestrade, feeling it was a tremendous accomplishment and feat of will that he was able to do so, for nothing in him wanted to release his spouse even for the briefest of time.

      “Only a second, love.”

Lestrade hopped out of bed, wincing from the sting and ache of his various bites and over-exercised muscles and stretched, feeling no surprise that Mycroft’s hand ran up his thigh and across his backside as he did so.

      “Your body is indescribable, Gregory.”

      “You’re confusing me with you, I think.”

      “Oh no, there is absolutely no confusion on my part.”

But, if Mycroft’s hand kept wandering like that, Lestrade’s intended goal was not going to be met and he really didn’t have a choice in the matter.  It felt so good though…

      “In fact, I would say…”

      “PREPARE FOR MY ENTRANCE!”

Lestrade grabbed a pillow and hid his more interesting bits behind it about a microsecond before Sherlock, with a hand covering his eyes, pushed through the door and stood pouting in the bedroom.

      “Sherlock!  This is incontestably unacceptable and I will NOT permit you to intrude on Gregory and my bedchambers!”

      “Pfft.  Your carnal activities utterly fail to garner my interest.”

      “Then begone and leave us in peace.”

      “No.”

      “Sherlock…”

      “Father has requested your presence and I was forced to do his bidding.  For a price.”

If Father was bribing Sherlock to deliver a message, then this was not a frivolous issue.

      “I hope you negotiated a favorable payment.”

      “I am a masterful negotiator!  As it was, Father did not want to blind any member of the household staff with your naked coupling and had to resort to conscripting me to perform the deed.

Not as serious as Mycroft had thought, though, or a servant _would_ have been sent.  This smacked of… jocularity… and that was a positively villainous thing to perpetrate against one’s son.

      “Very well.  Gregory and I…”

      “Your concubine was not summoned, only you.”

A matter of regular business, then and not the situation with his beloved.  That was a decided relief.

      “I understand.  Gregory, I do apologize, but Father would not ask for me at this joyful time if I was not actually needed.”

      “It’s alright, love.  You and your dad have things to do that don’t stop because of us.”

      “I cannot predict how long I shall be occupied, however, there is much to do in the house and it is free for you to explore at will.”

      “Lestrade will be assisting me with my experiments!”

The married pair stared at the small, hand-blindfolded boy and the imperious look that colored what of his face they could see.

      “Oh, and did Gregory agree when you politely asked to impose upon his time?”

      “His agreement is irrelevant.  My research is paramount and none shall impede its progress.  John cannot attend me this evening due to some ridiculous elf business, so Lestrade must stand in his stead.”

Lestrade smirked and tossed his modesty pillow straight at Sherlock who stumbled wildly on impact.

      “Abuse!”

      “Well, you’re welcome to call for satisfaction, but I’m going to say it has to be settled here and now and, for your information, I’m naked and out of bed.”

      “I… that is unconscionably unfair!”

      “Then don’t be a little bastard and ask nicely if you want my help.”

      “Mycroft!  Control your husband!”

Instead, Mycroft slid out from beneath the blankets and gave Lestrade a gentle, naked kiss.

      “Something I must admit to taking great pleasure doing when our moods take us in that direction, however that time is not now.”

      “That… that is foul and filthy, I have no doubt, though… I am not entirely certain as to the reason.  Cease with your attempts to confound me!”

And, both Mycroft and Lestrade hoped, Sherlock’s enlightenment would be a long time in coming.

      “Ask politely, brother dear, or prepare to be, shall we say, forcibly restored of sight, bearing in mind that _both_ Gregory and I are now preparing to meet out day and are naked as newborns.”

      “This is intolerable!”

      “How hard will it be to pry those little twiggy fingers off his eyes, love?”

      “The effort shall be inconsequential, I have little doubt.”

      “NO!  I will be struck blind and rendered brain dead if I witness your flabby, naked flesh!”

      “Then your choices are clear.  Leave or leave after asking nicely for Gregory’s assistance with your work.  How delightfully simple to ponder.”

      “I… I…”

      “Has your tongue become dysfunctional, brother dear?”

      “I… adorn yourselves and we may negotiate!”

      “Ummm… no.  Gregory and I enjoy a clothing-optional policy in our private bedchambers.”

      “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

      “Are you trying to call the werewolf pack for a hunting party?  Surely your howling will litter our property with their kind and I am not certain Father and Mummy are prepared to entertain such rambunctious guests, especially since the full moon is upon us tomorrow.”

      “Just be decent you little bastard and I’ll help you with your experiment.”

Sherlock trembled with indecisive fury, dancing from foot to foot, until he flung himself against the wall, face first and pounded slowly against the stone with his fist.

      “Is this some kind of play, love?  He read that in one of those books in your library?”

      “I do hope so.  I am always appreciative of a lively bit of theater.”

      “The gods have abandoned me!”

      “Oh, dialogue!  Besides the swordfights, the dialogue’s my favorite part.”

      “I agree wholeheartedly, my dear.  Let us see what our actor has next to say.”

      “Mock me at your peril, dunderheads!”

      “We have a comedy!  I am utterly pleased.  Such a bracing way to being our day.”

Sherlock reached up, palms flat and slowly slid down the wall to collapse in a limp puddle on the floor.

      “Ooh, this is getting good.  I bet there are going to be witches any minute now.”

The small vampire’s wholly false, but impressive sobbing made the older boys grin, but decide it was time to take pity on the puddle.

      “How about this, Sherlock?  If you could speak, which you can’t because you’re a heap on the floor, would you, right now, be asking me cordially to help you with your research?  Raise one finger for yes and two for no.”

Mycroft nodded at his husband in acknowledgement of his tactics and both waited while Sherlock raised him arm with glacial slowness, then equally slow, raised one shaky finger before having his arm collapse with a thump on the floor from the exertion.

      “Alright then.  Just lay there one minute and we’ll get dressed.  I’ll tell you when we’re decent and I promise I won’t even lie to make you go insane.”

Sherlock nodded slightly and moaned painfully, but waited patiently while the older boys donned their clothing.

      “Alright, we’re not naked anymore, so you can look.”

Sherlock made a tremendous, yet completely expected, show of prying open his eyes and peering as through a thick fog at the figures in front of him.

      “You are still decidedly unattractive.”

      “And, on that note, I shall answer Father’s summons.  My dear, do enjoy yourself in my absence.  Then I shall ensure you enjoy yourself in my presence.”

Mycroft gave his husband a kiss, accompanied by Sherlock’s gagging, then headed towards his father’s study, leaving Sherlock and Lestrade alone in the bedroom.

      “You know, Sherlock, you could be nicer to your brother.  He’s got a lot on his mind.”

      “If you are referring to the enormous mass of fat lying on top of his brain, then you are correct.  Now, we shall go to my laboratory and begin our work?  You will follow my instructions to the letter.”

      “Are there going to be a lot of letters?  I haven’t had breakfast and it’s hard to spell with an empty stomach.”

      “Buffoon.”

      “See?  I have no idea how to spell that.  Is there a Q in there somewhere?”

Sherlock huffed loudly, dragged himself off the floor and pointed to the door, tapping his foot in impatience at Lestrade’s lackadaisical pace out of the room.

      “To the letter or it shall not go well for you.”

      “There’s an X or two in there, am I right?”

__________

      “Demonstrate.”

Lestrade grinned at Sherlock’s very solemn, yet _very_ focused, expression as the boy stared at his arms waiting for an eruption of flame.  Which Lestrade was happy to provide.

      “Hmmm… there is a decided lack of smoke.  Is this a typical presentation?”

      “You know, I never thought about it, but yeah, I suppose it is.”

      “Hmmm…”

Sherlock scribbled furiously in his research notebook, then began holding samples of substances on sticks in the fire, counting the seconds until they melted.

      “Can you vary the intensity of the heat?”

      “Make it hotter or cooler?  Actually, yes.  That’s helpful when I’m cooking on a wet night and I can’t find any dry wood.  Just put the pot in my hand and control the heat so I don’t burn my food.”

      “Hmmm…”

Sherlock continued to scribble and Lestrade had to concede that the boy took his work very seriously.

      “Now, we shall discuss distance.  From what distance can you ignite a blaze?”

      “Don’t know.  I never needed to find out.”

      “Your commitment to research rivals that of my brother.”

      “Must be why we love each other.”

      “Does your range reach the length of this room?”

Lestrade immediately made an unlit torch on the far side of Sherlock’s laboratory burst into flames and waited while Sherlock documented the feat.

      “Very well, we shall move the setting for my experiment outdoors to more fully test your at-distance capability.”

      “Can we stop by the kitchen on the way?  You may not be hungry, but I am.”

      “Ugh… must my vital work be retarded by your stomach?”

      “I think it must.”

      “Your unreasonable needs do not meet with my approval, but I suppose I have little choice if I want the night to remain unaccompanied by the sound of digestive unrest from your insides.”

      “Stomach’s already rumbling, so I think that’s smart.”

Sherlock huffed loudly and pointed towards the door of his lab, following closely behind Lestrade with his notebook, remaining alert for any hint of an escape attempt, though he had no real expectation it would occur.  Lestrade had been… helpful… and… patient… throughout the tests and seemed genuinely interested in the work and his methods.  Which was right and proper, of course, but… not everyone responded in the same manner.

      “Think I have time for a quick wash, Sherlock?  Not only is my stomach rumbling, but my stench is making my nose hurt.”

Of course, the buffoonery kept the usefulness of his test subject to the barest minimum…

__________

Lestrade had to admit it was interesting to play Sherlock’s little games because, despite living with his curse for his entire life, he’d never really thought to investigate it to any degree.  He did what he needed to do or cried over what he _hadn’t_ wanted to do and that was about all.  Now, though…

      “Is that the largest you can muster?”

      “I just threw a fireball the size of a chicken!”

      “And that answers my question how?”

      “Chicken-sized fireballs are quite large enough, I think, for anything you might want.”

      “If we are besieged by some form of invading force, knowledge of your limits would be crucial to our defense and for any spell I might employ that utilizes your abilities.”

Drat.  Why’d the little bastard have to get rational on him?”

      “Alright, that makes sense.  Hold on…”

Lestrade concentrated and gathered his flame, adding more and more until it began to fall away onto the grass, prompting some stomping by Sherlock, then scaled back and hurled the five-chicken sized ball across the lawn, feeling a great deal of satisfaction that it stayed ball-shaped for the full length of the throw.  Which prompted stomping by both Sherlock and him to save the lawn from becoming a scorched patch of Mummy-guaranteed disapproval.

      “Adequate, I suppose.”

      “You’re never satisfied, are you, Sherlock?”

      “Satisfaction is an enemy of progress.”

      “Ok, I won’t argue with that, because there’s some truth in it.  Now, does that mean we’re done for the night?”

      “No.”

Oh, goody.

      “What’s next, then?”

      “We must now test precision.  Then height of your full-body ignition Then we shall return to my laboratory to begin tests of how you are affected by various spells I have prepared.”

      “Uh… no.  You’re not casting spells on me.”

      “I shall!  I must document how the potency of certain spells is altered when cast upon a firestarter!”

      “Wrong.  But, if we talk to Mrs. Hudson first and she says it’s safe, then you can run your tests.”

      “You do not trust my knowledge?”

      “Your knowledge, yes.  Your willingness to try something you don’t actually know that much about and not tell me – absolutely.”

Sherlock snarled and refused to admit that maybe, just maybe, a few of his intended incantations were at the experimental stages of development and the results were a _bit_ unpredictable.

      “As it so happens, I require supplies so visiting Mrs. Hudson’s shop was part of my night’s agenda, in any case.”

      “Then aren’t you a lucky boy.  I suppose your dad won’t mind if we borrow a couple of horses to make the trip.”

      “Ugh… transport of the menial class.”

      “Ok, you can fly, if you like.  But, you have to carry back anything you buy, so think about that carefully before you decide.”

      “And why can you not port my purchases back home?”

      “I don’t want to.”

      “That is an insufficient answer.”

      “Then aren’t you an _unlucky_ boy.”

      “Goad me not with your repetitiveness!”

      “Sorry, sir.  I’ll try to be more singular, sir.”

Sherlock snorted and prepared for the precision experiment, unaware of the sets of eyes watching him from the window of his father’s study.

      “Your Gregory is quite a patient man.”

      “That he is, Father.  I would wager there are few in the world who can so easily withstand Sherlock’s nature and, further, guide it towards productive goals.”

      “And… his talent is most impressive.”

Something which swelled Mycroft’s chest with pride.

      “That it is.  In different circumstances, he could have been a formidable warrior.  Of course, his gentle soul is also an obstacle to that particular path in life.”

      “True, however… he would make a valuable addition to any trade mission where we might have cause to worry about pirates attacking our ships.”

      “Father, you are not sending Gregory on months-long sea voyages because you want to sink pirate ships.”

      “Why not?  It would be a service to all merchant and passenger vessels.”

      “False altruism does not suit you.”

      “Really?  I thought it added some depth to my character.”

      “You thought wrong.”

      “We’ll ask your mother.  She’s good for knowing things like that.”

      “And will side with you.”

      “Another fine reason to bring her into the discussion.”

__________

After several hours of contract scripting and negotiation planning, Mycroft set off in the direction of his bedroom.  Given it was empty, he then tried the library, family dining room, kitchens, Sherlock’s laboratory and every other possible location that might interest the pair.  Finding his spouse and brother nowhere in the castle, Mycroft followed a hunch and landed outside the door of Mrs. Hudson’s shop, unsurprised to hear his brother’s shrill voice from the other side of the wall.

      “It is entirely unseemly to be squeamish at this juncture!”

Mycroft peeked in and saw his husband, with puffed cheeks, glaring at Sherlock and what looked like a piece of… kidney in Sherlock’s hand.

      “Stop bothering Greg, you awful little thing.  He’s being nice helping you at all without you trying to poison him.”

Mrs. Hudson’s accusation had Mycroft stepping into the shop and standing beside his husband in less than a heartbeat, adding his glare to Lestrade’s to cow the small vampire.

      “Sherlock!  You will not take _any_ action against Gregory’s heath.”

      “Squeamishness is not a health concern!”

      “My dear, if you would kindly outline to me the situation?”

      “ ‘knt.”

      “Pardon?”

      “He said he cannot.  He is currently hosting a fire in his mouth while I monitor the temperature of his face to document the transfer of heat energy through his skin.  However, he is being a blackguard and refusing to, simultaneously, roast this piece of boar’s kidney for me to use in the parasite-infesting spell on which I am working.”

      “I see.  My dear, keep your mouth tightly closed and rest assured your lips shall not be violated in any manner whatsoever.  Mrs. Hudson, I am not pleased that you are not defending Gregory more vigorously.”

The witch’s rude noise took Mycroft off guard and he happily added her to his radius of displeasure.

      “Greg can take care of himself.  Sherlock becomes too much of a misery, all he has to do is set the seat of his trousers on fire and that’s that.”

Mycroft had to admit now that his love’s abilities had been revealed, a diversity of uses sprang to mind, some more entertaining than others.

      “Yes, I see your point.   And might I inquire why they are here for you to have a point to make?”

      “Because your husband’s not completely daft and wanted to be sure that whatever spells Sherlock wanted to play around with were safe.”

Oh, points to Gregory for forethought.  Sherlock was infamous for ignoring any measure of personal safety with his experiments.  And his love, though possessed of a powerful talent, was still fragilely human.

      “Yes, Gregory is nothing if not possessed of robust reasoning skills and a strong sense of practicality.”

      “Well, you can both rest easy because nothing your brother is planning is likely to do any harm. Admittedly, I can’t be _completely_ certain because _I’ve_ not even had much experience working spells on a cursed individual or any wizard with fire-starting abilities, but I I’m certain enough.”

That wasn’t quite the reassurance Mycroft wanted, but it was more than one usually had with Sherlock.

      “That is some comfort, I suppose.  However, my dear, do not allow your tender heart to persuade you to accede to Sherlock’s demands if your mind considers the venture questionable.”

      “You will cease your interference!  Your concubine has nothing else to do with his time, so he should be grateful that I am finding use for him!”

Sherlock’s typical hysteria was, well, typical, however it did raise a point that he needed to start addressing.  His love would have his days filled soon enough, in the most disheartening way, but, once the trial was concluded, that time would weight heavy on his Gregory’s shoulders.

      “Once the trial is over, Gregory and I will work to find him suitable ways to use his time in a fulfilling manner.  His skillset is quite robust and I have no doubt we shall land upon a highly appropriate solution.”

      “If he doesn’t hang.”

Sherlock’s eyes flew wide and his hand slapped across his mouth, barely ducking the spew of flame that leapt out of Lestrade’s mouth as he choked on Sherlock’s words.

      “HOW DARE YOU!”

Mycroft lunged at his brother, stopping only a hair’s breadth from snapping Sherlock’s neck when he saw the near terror in Sherlock’s eyes, not from imminent death, but from what had spilled from his mouth.  That terror quickly began to turn to distress and Mycroft suffered hearing words from his brother he had never heard before.

      “I’m sorry!”

The distraught boy ran from the shop and Mycroft made to follow after him, but was stopped by Lestrade, who shook his head and took the job instead.  And, though he didn’t have a vampire’s ability to see in the dark, the soft snuffling sound in the dark was easy to follow to Sherlock’s hiding place in the woods behind the shop.

      “It’s alright, Sherlock.  Things slip out sometimes.”

Sherlock angled away from Lestrade who sat down in the dirt next to him and leaned back against the tree the vampire was using as cover.

      “If it helps, I know you didn’t mean it.  Just trying to make one of your little jokes and… sometimes jokes hit spots that are sore and they’re not as funny as you’d hoped.”

      “I didn’t… I _didn’t_ mean it.”

      “I know and I understand.  You’ve got… well, you’ve got your way of talking to people that’s uniquely you and sometimes… gets you into a bit of trouble, I suspect.”

Sherlock did nothing for a moment, then slowly nodded, keeping his face turned away from Lestrade, who almost wished the boy wasn’t sincere because he had been longing for someone or something to take his frustrations and fears out on, but Sherlock was not going to be his target.  Not for any reason whatsoever.

      “You did good, though.  Said you were sorry and I could tell you were sincere.  Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson could, too, and that’s what you do when you’ve made a mistake that could hurt someone.  You apologize and be sincere and people forgive you.”

Sherlock cut eyes towards Lestrade and the former prisoner endured an ache in his heart seeing the moonlight sparkle off of the small spots of moisture on Sherlock’s cheeks.

      “That is true?”

      “Yes, it is.  And, maybe, the next time you start to make one of your special jokes you’ll think twice to make certain it’s just evil and not actually mean or hurtful.  That’s something beneficial than can come out of this and it’s an important thing we can be happy for.”

Sherlock pursed his lips in a semi-disbelieving pout and sniffed loudly to draw back his remaining tears.

      “I suppose that is the case.”

      “Believe me, it is.  Now, why don’t we go back and do another of your experiments?  There’s still some night left and we might as well use every bit of it.”

Sherlock nodded again, this time with more confidence, but didn’t move from the ground, so Lestrade sat quietly waiting for the boy to say what was on his mind.

      “What… what if they _do_ find you guilty?”

And what was on his mind was a very large bit of nasty, wasn’t it?

      “Then I _will_ hang, I suppose.”

      “Father could send you away where nobody would ever find you.  He might even let Mycroft go, as well.”

Lestrade gave Sherlock’s shoulder a squeeze and wished the situation was that easy.  But, it was good for his soul to hear Sherlock’s clear concern over what could easily be his final fate.

      “He could, but everyone would know he did it and that wouldn’t be a smart thing in the long run, lad.  It wouldn’t be good for your family and maybe even other vampire families once the word spread.  Sometimes bad things have to happen, even if they’re not right or fair, if it keeps even worse things from happening.  If they find me guilty and we can’t do anything to change their minds, then I won’t run.  I’ll march with my head held high right to the tree they’ll hang me from and be alright with it because it will keep your family safe and respected.  That’s the most important thing to me, Sherlock.  I want… no, I _need_ your family to stay safe and well and go on with your lives just as they are now.  That’s what really matters and… whatever it takes to do that, I’m prepared to do.”

Which was part of the reason Sherlock hated all of this!  Lestrade wasn’t a foolish, selfish human who deserved his contempt.  He… he was something different and he could lose his life because of the foolish, selfish humans who _were_ stupid enough to believe any salacious story that crossed their path.  Did not Mrs. Hudson speak often of the power of rumor?  Of a well-told story?  The only thing that should matter was facts and logic, but the idiotic humans cared nothing for any of that and Lestrade could suffer the worst penalty of all because of it!  He had been cast out by one set of humans before and there was no reason to believe the same would not happen again, especially with the oily dog waste that was Magnussen acting behind the scenes.

      “That is _not_ right.”

      “No, it’s not, but, like I said, right’s not always the most important factor.”

Sherlock nodded a third time, if only to show acknowledgement that Lestrade spoke, not that he agreed with the words.

      “John and I will find a way… find something… we will do everything possible to prove your innocence”

      “I know you will, Sherlock, I don’t doubt that for a second and, if anyone can find a bright spot in this darkness it’s the two of you.  So, come on?  I bet we can parlay our conversation into some biscuits and tea from Mrs. Hudson and that’s always welcome in my opinion.”

Mrs. Hudson did bake palatable biscuits and Sherlock suddenly found himself quite hungry from the embarrassing display of sentiment.

      “Very well, but I shall have the larger portion.”

      “Is there any other possibility?”

      “No, but a reminder never hurts.”

__________

Neither Mrs. Hudson nor Mycroft made any comment when Sherlock and Lestrade returned to the shop, but both could not erase the signs of their obvious pride in the small vampire, who simply scowled and demanded baked goods as befitting his station.  Mrs. Hudson threated to give his bum a swat but, in reality, was happy to comply as it would give the married couple a chance to talk and she could do with a cup of tea and a treat herself.

      “How upset was Sherlock, my dear?”

      “Very, which says good things about him.  We’ve got it sorted, though, so he’ll be alright.”

      “He cares for you, though he would suffer lip amputation before admitting it.”

      “And I love him dearly for it.  You should know, though, that he’s also worried about what’s going to happen to me if things _don’t_ go our way.  I think we forget that this could still end very badly and it’s not just you and me who are going to suffer if it does.”

No, Mycroft had not forgotten that.  It ate away like acid in the corner of his mind and peppered his dreams with the most frightening and anguishing of images.  But, he could not allow any of it to erode his confidence that the worst would _not_ occur and his husband would be safely returned to him permanently to live out the remainder of their years in the bliss they had come to discover.

      “Sherlock’s affections have long been hidden from sight, but he is becoming more apt to demonstrate them now and I am ridiculously thankful for the fact.  Now, shall we join them for our own refreshment?  I suspect my brother has a few additional tests he would like to perform and a full stomach might be the best way to enter into the undertaking.”

      “He has a list a league long, but some I’ve already said no to a fair number because I have no desire to shove something up my bum or risk setting him on fire.  More so the former than the latter, but you take my meaning.”

Mycroft giggled and took Lestrade’s hand, patting it tenderly.

      “Your devotion to his research pursuits is precisely as strong as it needs to be, my dear, so fret not.”

      “I’m worried for when John visits tomorrow night, though.  Those two minds together can devise some truly fiendish schemes.  My bum could be in grave danger.”

      “Then, aren’t you lucky I would enjoy nothing more than safeguarding your bottom from any interloper?”

      “Except you, of course.”

      “Well, a small amount of interloping is good for the soul.  And the body.”

      “With you, love, small isn’t the right word.”

Mustn’t preen and appear prideful.  At least not when Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson might glean the reason for his pride and attempt perpetrate their own version of hilarity with the knowledge.  He truly did wish to enjoy his biscuit and tea in peace and their double murder would not promote good digestion.

__________

Mycroft agreed to let Sherlock fly home alone and he would take his horse for the ride back, mostly so he could savor the night air with his spouse.

      “I’m exhausted!  Sherlock really put me through my paces.”

      “When he is inspired, my brother truly pursues his goal with remarkable passion and without a care for rest, food or drink.”

      “And I envy him for it.  Not everyone has that degree of dedication.  He’s going to be right at the top of whatever he wants to do in this life.”

Lestrade stretched and Mycroft simply stared at his form, bathed in the pale moonlight and sighed in contentment.

      “I tell you what, though… I’m not certain I’m ready for a ride back home.”

Although Mycroft was positively giddy over his spouse’s use of the term ‘home,’ in this context he was also a bit confused.

      “I regret to inform you, beloved, that walking will be a much more tiring process and, as of my knowledge, you have no ability to fly.”

      “True, but a nice swim might relax me and loosen up the muscles that are aching.  What say you and I detour to the lake and take advantage of a quiet night, that bright moon and lots of water flowing all over our naked bodies?”

Mycroft had turned his horse in the direction of the lake before he even realized he hadn’t said yes and Lestrade laughed at his very obvious agreement.  And, since it was only a moderate ride, he could soon give him a kiss to show just how adorable he found his vampire.

      “I love you, Mycroft Holmes.  You never say no to a bit of indulgence, do you?”

      “When it is shared with you, my dear, the answer, most decidedly, is no.  Shall we?”

Both men jumped off their horses, disrobed and walked into the lake, floating, then swimming together, savoring the simple pleasure of their time together out of doors.  For Mycroft, the pleasure was all the more special because of his memories of gazing upon his husband from afar, marveling at the perfection of his form.  Now, he could touch that form, at will…

      “Randy bastard!  Keep your hands off my bum when I’m trying to swim.”

      “I might take your declaration seriously, Gregory, if you were not smiling.”

      “Alright… it did feel nice.”

      “Yes, it did.”

      “Our new house… it’s really not that far from here, is it?”

      “No, not appreciably.  It is easily within gentle riding distance so we may enjoy a leisurely swim on warm summer nights.”

      “It doesn’t really matter to you, though, does it?  You’re not as affected by temperature as I am.”

      “There is some truth to that.  I do experience a range of chill and unappealing warmth however, the range is rather narrow and somewhat fixed regardless of the depth of the cold or height of the heat to which I am exposed.  That being said, in particular, the bitter cold of winter does sap a great deal of my energy to endure, if I meet it for a prolonged time without proper outer garments.  True, I am not discomforted by it moment to moment as would be a human, but the vitality I lose to maintain that comfort could be worrisome should I find myself alone and fall into a torpor in an unprotected location.”

      “How long would that take?”

      “To become functionless?  Grandfather spoke of visiting the very northern climes in his younger years and, for reasons he would not divulge, found himself abandoned in the icy nothingness with not a stitch of clothing on his back.  It took him fully two and a half weeks to find any semblance of civilization and he was, according to him, at the limits of his ability to speak, let alone walk.”

      “I’d have been dead in a day.”

      “Likely.  The temperatures are said to be brutally and unrelentingly cold and it truly is a nothingness, with not even a tree from which to gather withered leaves to cover one’s unmentionables.”

      “Dead in half a day, then.  My fire can _light_ a fire, but it doesn’t keep me warm, which has been inconvenient, at times.  At least I know I don’t have to worry about you getting chilled if the fire goes out in our bedroom overnight, though.”

      “With _your_ heat?  Gregory… when first we embraced I was both surprised and delighted by the penetrating heat of your body.  I suspect if we chose to do without a fire completely, I would scarcely notice its lack.  I have no experience to state whether the same would be true if I were married to another man or if it is a factor of your talent, but I have known an inner warmth with you that is quite unique to me and I treasure it highly.”

Lestrade tried to remember if any of his former… companions… had mentioned something of the sort and nothing immediately sprang to mind.  Maybe it was because Mycroft was a vampire that he had that effect, though, this would _not_ be a topic he would be discussing with his husband.  Mycroft’s own fire, fueled purely and fiercely by jealousy, would probably make the lake boil away and he really did like taking a swim when he had the chance.

      “I promise I’ll always do my best to keep you toasty and you can keep me cool on those miserable summer nights when not a speck of air is moving and it’s hotter than, well… me.”

      “An amicable trade if ever I heard one.  Shall we cement our accord with a kiss?”

      “I think that’s appropriate.”

Lestrade grabbed Mycroft’s hand and pulled him over, so they could paddle gently to stay afloat and savor the taste of the one they loved.  At least until they heard the loud clearing of a throat from the shore.

      “Father!  What in the name of the stars are you doing here?”

Said with a snarl which stated clearly that another step taken closer to Mycroft’s naked husband would not end well for the elder Holmes.

      “Suffering the pungent perfume of your physical intentions, if I am to be honest.”

      “NO!  You are not allowed to comment upon Gregory and my intimacy in any form, at any time!”

      “Then this should be a short conversation.”

      “FATHER!”

      “Calm down, love.  Your dad wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t a good reason.  He’s got his own intimacy to worry about and that’s not getting tended to out here.”

Mycroft seethed that his father actually laughed at his spouse’s ill-placed joviality, but hoped there was _some_ truth to the notion because the sooner his sire departed, the sooner their own ‘personal attentions’ could be satisfied.

      “Precisely!  Your Gregory is a man of the world and I am very glad for the fact.  And, happily, I arrive with good news.  We have located our witness and he is en route here as we speak.”

Mycroft quickly supported Lestrade who had stopped paddling from the shock of the announcement.

      “Already?  I mean, I knew we needed it to happen fast, but…”

But Lestrade couldn’t say he expected it to happen at all.  Maybe he should learn to start being a little more optimistic.

      “Our quarry was still in the home in which he lived before the fire, so he was not difficult to locate and, though he was not eager to consent to the journey, was persuaded quite… persuasively.”

      “How… how do you know all of this, sir?”

      “Mrs. Hudson’s messengers are truly swift of wing.  I am considering hiring a number of their species for my own business communications, in point of fact.  Fortunately, Martha’s services for inter-species translation are most reasonable.”

      “Father, do we know the information he carries?”

Mycroft didn’t specifically need an answer, given the slight shake of his father’s head, but he dearly hoped he was misinterpreting the gesture.

      “That we do not.  My representatives’ persuasion did not encourage him to part with it, perhaps for fear of what might happen if he, himself, was no longer needed for our purposes.  Since I did not authorize anything _beyond_ persuasion, our men are simply escorting him and it will be our task to relieve him of his story.”

Which Mycroft would be happy to do, no matter the technique necessary for the interrogation.

      “How long… how long before he gets here?”

Lestrade leaned into the hand Mycroft was using to rub his back and realized that facing a former friend who… this was going to be its own measure of hell.

      “As they are riding hard and will only stop for breaks to rest the horses, I anticipate they could arrive right at the onset of your trial.  Perhaps even before if new trails have been laid since our map was drawn.”

Mycroft encircled Lestrade’s waist with his arms and supported his weight while Lestrade let the news sink in.  Soon they could have evidence, real evidence that he was innocent.  That was something his mind was having a hard time grasping even though it was the most fantastic thing he possibly could have heard.

      “Thank you, Father.  I assume your rudeness in interrupting our time together was due to your eagerness to share the good news.”

      “No, I was actually on my way to speak with Martha when I caught your scent on the wind.  The interrupting was simply for amusement.”

      “Begone.”

      “Actually, the water looks most inviting.  I believe I fancy a swim, myself.”

      “NO!  No, you do _not_ fancy a swim.  You have not swum in the nearly two centuries I have known you and I shall not have Gregory’s eyes assaulted by your unclothed body.”

      “I’m in great shape for a man my age!  Just ask your mother.”

      “NO!  No and no, again.  Begone and pester Mrs. Hudson; leave Gregory and me alone to discuss your tidings.”

      “I’m not feeling very welcome at the moment.”

      “Begone is a fantastically small word and I have great faith you are well-versed in its meaning.”

      “Gregory, I do hope he does not strike such an overbearing tone when he speaks to you.”

      “Only about half the time, so I can cope.”

      “A man of fortitude, how lucky is my Mycroft.  Very well, Your Majesty, I shall depart.  Do not be too much longer, if you please, for your mother is hopeful of a late family dinner and denying her will not make happy men of of us.”

In a blink a dark bat, slightly larger than Mycroft’s own bat form, appeared and flew off over the trees, leaving behind a fuming son and a frazzled son-in-law.

      “Gregory, might I ask how you are faring?”

      “I really don’t know.  Well, on balance, I think.  This could be the key to it all, love.  The key to everything, but… what am I going to say to him?”

      “Nothing.  You have no reason to even lay eyes upon him and I shall be the one to conduct the, shall we say, _conversation_ to ascertain what he knows of your situation.”

      “No.  I appreciate that, Mycroft, and I know it’s what you think is best… that you’re trying to look out for me, but I have to do this.  I have to look right into his eyes when he tells us why he let me be thought of as a murderer for seven years.  I have to or it’s never going to sit right with me.  I don’t know why, but I do know it won’t.”

Mycroft nudged Lestrade in the direction of the shore and began swimming slowly, keeping an eye that his love didn’t drown in the short distance to dry land.  He then watched with some degree of amazement as Lestrade used a very low level of his fire on him to help dry his body, then picked up his clothes and redressed alongside his beloved husband.

      “Ready to ride, love?”

      “I believe so.  I mourn our abbreviated swim, but we might come again tomorrow if the rain continues to grace us with its absence, and, perhaps, bring a lunch to nibble while we enjoy the fresh air and moonlight.”

      “That sounds like a brilliant idea.  And we’ll bring a blanket, too.  I’d rather not do fabulously filthy things to you and get dirt and grass in places that I know will offend you terribly.”

How well his husband knew his… areas of difficulty.

      “So terribly kind of you.  I believe, then, we have a plan for the night.”

      “I think we do.  How strongly can you tie a knot?”

      “Gregory!  Oh, my dear… I… I had no idea you… does that sort of thing interest you?”

      “What?  OH!  Oh… look at you being all adventurous.  And, honestly, I don’t know, but I was thinking more about keeping Sherlock from following us and being an even greater interruption than your dad.  One night of hiding my bits from his young and tender eyes is quite enough for me.”

      “Ah, I see.  And you are quite right, though, I suspect a bribe will suffice.  But, Gregory…”

      ‘Yes?”

      “How strongly _can_ you tie a knot?”

Lestrade grinned his most wicked grin and decided that, oh yes, they not only had a plan for tomorrow night, but for another night when he had his Mycroft in their big, four-poster bed and a few pieces of heavy furniture shoved in front of the bedroom door.  He was the luckiest man in the world and not a day would go by that he wasn’t thankful for it…


	25. Chapter 25

Mycroft would look back fondly over the next few days at his and his love’s brief swim in the lake, as their private time became a precious thing due to the various, highly optimistic, planning and implementation sessions for their new house, the strategizing sessions for the upcoming trial and serving as minders for Sherlock and John, who believed, apparently, that it was necessary to see each other as often as was physically possible.  Your life was not going according to plan when, at the end of the night, you looked forward to your bed, primarily for its welcoming comfort as you slept.

Tonight, however, would not be one of those nights.  His beloved would sorely need reassurance, love and comfort after what he must endure and he would not, not in a thousand lifetimes, fail in that most sacred responsibility.

      “What time is he supposed to be here?”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around his husband as they stood in the corridor outside their bedroom, poised to meet the day, and willed as much support into his tense body as he could muster.

      “Soon after breakfast.  The last message put them close and that is Father’s best estimate for time.   Do not worry so, Gregory.  Whatever information this person holds, I shall pry it from his grasp.  By his silence, he has been your enemy these past seven years, however, he shall now be your ally, whether he chooses it or not.”

      “I just can’t… I’m sorry, but I still can’t understand any of it!  How could he know that I was innocent and not do anything?  The one time I snuck back to talk to our old foreman, nobody had come forward to support me.  Nobody had brought any evidence into the light or even talked openly about other possibilities for who started the fire.  Nobody stood up to try and help me and now that I know there _was_ evidence… that means…”

Mycroft held his spouse more tightly and wished he could remove from Lestrade all of the burden this night was laying upon him, but he could no more do that than he could remove the burden of the past seven years.  His love would have to battle through it, but, as had been proven, his Gregory was nothing if not a profoundly strong and courageous man.

      “What it means does him a severe discredit and I will make that fact known in no uncertain terms.  Now, though, let us make ourselves presentable for the day.  Mummy is rather adamant that we make a final decision on the bed linens and she does not remain adamant for long without exacting a stiff penance for her prolonged adamancy.”

      “It’s sheets!  They’re covered with blankets and that thing you put on top of the blankets that weighs as much as a horse.  Nobody sees them!”

      “That is a duvet and it, as well as the blankets, _are_ included today’s decision-making challenge.”

      “Blue.  Can I just say blue and be done with it?”

      “To which shade might you be referring?  I assure you, Mummy has fabric samples of a legion of shades for each color and will insist upon proper coordination of the various hues to create an eye-pleasing presentation for us to disassemble prior to sleeping.”

      “Does Sherlock have an eye for color?”

      “Not that I am aware, however, do you really want to entrust that on which we shall enjoy our slumber to the hands of someone who would deem our discomfort both warranted for enmeshing him in the special hell of bedding and intriguing for the data he might collect on the effect of certain fibers on vampire and firestarter skin?”

      “You’re right.  I went a bit loony there for a second.”

      “Yet, I love you still.”

      “I suppose we should get to it then.  I expect… once the other thing happens, there won’t be time for talking about anything concerned with the new house.”

      “No, I suspect you are correct.  But, cannot I sway your decision about confronting our witness?  I am still terribly worried for you having to confront the blackguard, Gregory.  You do not need to suffer such upset; I promise that I will disclose to you everything I learn, I shall hold back not a scintilla of information if you would but allow Father and I to do this alone.”

Lestrade gave his husband a kiss and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist.

      “I know you’re worried, love, and I won’t say that I’m not, because I _am_.  My stomach’s got a cold lump sitting inside it and I would love to spend the day sitting by the fire reading and giving it time to quiet down, but that’s not what’s going to happen.  I need to do this and, besides, he might say something that I know is important, even if you and your dad don’t.  Something only someone who lived in my community would realize was valuable.  He could say something that was a lie, too, that you wouldn’t recognize because you don’t know the situation like I do.  I have to do this, Mycroft.  I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

Mycroft hugged his spouse tightly and knew he wouldn’t be able to change Lestrade’s mind.  Part of him was happy for it, because it spoke volumes about his lover’s character, but… the other part ached horribly for what was to come.

      “Very well.  Then, let us make short work of breakfast and hurl ourselves headlong into Mummy’s clutches.  The less that is occupying our thoughts as we move into the less pleasant part of the night, the happier, I feel, we shall be.”

      “Alright.  You first.”

      “No.  I shall defer to your lead.”

      “I’m not letting go first.  This was your idea, remember.”

      “You first drew me into this embrace, my beloved, forget not that particular fact.”

      “You made it nice and firm, so I couldn’t wriggle out if I tried, which I don’t want to, anyway, so I’m not even inclined to give it a go.”

      “Already John and I are sickened to the point of emesis!  We refuse to let you drag us further into misery!”

And, the moment was over.

      “Yeah!  I didn’t come here for misery, so stop and act normal.”

      “I am afraid, John, this _is_ their normal.  See you  now the reason for my endless tears?”

      “This is bad, Sherlock.  I really feel sorry for you.”

The older boys sighed resignedly and, after one final kiss, let their arms release the one they loved.

      “Is there a tangible reason for interrupting Gregory and my conversation, brother dear?”

      “Hey!  You could say hello to me, too!”

      “Since I did not say hello to Sherlock, your complaint is misapplied, elf.”

      “Your manners are as atrocious as your body odor, Mycroft.  That John and I tolerate you in any fashion is nigh on a miracle.”

Both Mycroft and Lestrade spared a moment to wonder what it would be like if the little vampire and the littler elf didn’t tolerate them at all.  Truly, it was a terrifying concept.

      “And we are blessed for it.  Now, why don’t you be on your way, as Gregory and I have a full schedule for the day and…”

      “First, you shall waddle to your trough and slurp the remains of last morning’s dinner which cook has kindly slopped into said trough for you to consume.  Then, you are playing with pillow coverings while Mummy watches and applauds your dancing for her amusement, and finally, you shall confront the craven coward who allowed Lestrade to remain under suspicion for this seven years’ time.  Two thirds of that agenda is of interest to John and I, and we demand inclusion in those activities.”

      “You want to choose sheets?”

      “No!  Buffoonish vagabond.  John and I require breakfast and then we shall work on an experiment until the interrogation begins, where we will act as full participants in the proceedings.”

Mycroft and Lestrade held back a smile at the obvious care and interest shown by the boys, as well as the vehemence of Sherlock’s declaration and John’s strong nodding in agreement.

      “Sherlock, that’s nice of you, really it is, but this isn’t something for you and John to worry about.  It’s probably going to be boring for you, so why don’t you…”

Two forceful snorts of indignation interrupted Lestrade’s speech and he cut eyes over to Mycroft for help.

      “Verily, Gregory is honest in his words and I am quite certain you have a multitude of ways by which to occupy your time while we tend to less entertaining matters.”

      “Neither one of you is very smart, so if Sherlock and I aren’t there, you’re going to make a mess of it.”

      “Thank you for your support, John.”

      “John is unerringly correct.  Without our supervision, the interrogation will surely stagnate and nothing of use will be gleaned.”

      “Well, let us leave the final decision to Father, shall we?”

      “No, for he is as boorish and short-sighted as you.”

      “Ahem.”

Sherlock and John spun around and smiled wide and painfully fake smiles at the family patriarch who had crept up behind the boys to listen to the conversation.

      “Oh, Father.  How fare you today?”

      “That wasn’t even a marginal try, Sherlock.”

      “I am not a thespian!  You cannot expect a perfected performance on my first attempt!”

      “Yeah!  That’s unreasonable!”

      “Regardless, a Holmes should manifest competence in any endeavor he chooses to attempt, so this shall stand as a poor mark on his record.  And, I agree with Mycroft and Gregory.  We shall handle this issue and you will… summon the ghost of a cat or something.”

      “Is he serious?  Your family is strange, Sherlock.  At least your mum isn’t as bad as your dad and your brother, even if she _is_ loony for plants.”

      “Agreed.  John and I are now going to breakfast whether we are properly escorted or not.  And none of your pedantic nattering shall move us from our decision to participate in the interrogation.  Obstruct us at your peril.  Come, John.  Sausages await.”

      “I can’t eat sausages!”

      “Very well… porridge awaits.”

      “Better.”

The two small boys stalked off, leaving the older males to begin calculating the cost of shipping the two somewhere very far across the sea for a decade or two.  Unfortunately, with Sherlock and John’s tenacity, they would find their way back sooner than later and truly be a thorn in the collective family side.

      “Don’t worry, I’ll have your mother tend to them.”

      “Oh, and Mummy is not, also, demanding inclusion in the information-extraction process?”

      “Um… well, yes.  However, the negotiations on that subject are very much still in progress.”

      “What does she want?”

      “An addition to the castle where she might grow more delicate plants and better control her botanical experiments.  And my assistance fully thrice per week.”

      “And it is the latter that is keeping the signatures from the contract.”

      “Three times a week!  For no less than two hours per event… no living creature should be asked to sacrifice so much.”

      “Mummy has always been a formidable negotiator; it is one of the qualities that drew you to her in the first place.”

      “True.  Do you know, Gregory, that my dear wife negotiated our marriage contract herself because she worried her parents would be so happy for the marriage that they would agree to anything to see the deal sealed?  She was right, too… my parents had keen eyes on certain tracts of property and various investment deals and my beloved made them pay a steep price for them.  I was, and still am, fantastically proud.”

Greg knew that if his and Mycroft’s marriage was even half as successful as Mycroft’s parents’, they’d be incredibly lucky men.

      “Then why don’t you return to your discussions, so Gregory and I might also find breakfast.”

      “Because I don’t want to.”

      “The ‘if I don’t remind her, she’ll forget and good for me’ tactic does not become you, Father.”

      “If it works, it does.”

      “And the likelihood of that?”

      “I put it at 35% right now, but I have several distraction strategies planned to increase that to a full 65% or even 70% by the time our quarry arrives.”

      “None of which involve entangling you in her vines and shrubbery, I assume.”

      “Of course not!  I’m not an idiot, you know, though I often feel like one in her presence.  If you need me I shall either be polishing… things… in the weapons room or in the wine cellar making a list for our next round of purchases.  I will let you know when our guest arrives.”

Continuing to skulk through the corridor lest his wife’s incomparable hearing alert her to his escape, Mycroft’s father left the married pair standing outside their bedroom, each leaning towards supporting John’s assessment of their clan, though, there was nothing wrong with strange if it was accompanied by love and that was something their family possessed in unfathomable quantity.

      “Shall we, love?  The boys are going to eat everything if we don’t grab a share first and your dad deserves whatever he’s going to get when your mum finds him.”

      “Yes, you are quite right.  And, to think, we were somewhat gloomy about the quality of the day and lo!... it makes itself amusing for us.”

      “And, why do I expect that our house is going to be considered an annex to this one so we’ll always have the chance for fun and games.”

      “Because you are a very wise man.  Now, sausages?”

      “Poor John… I’ll eat his share.”

      “Not if I arrive first.”

Which Mycroft was determined to ensure by turning to bat form and speeding down the corridor, with a hotly-protesting Lestrade running in his wake.  First rule of being a Holmes mate is learning to deal with a Holmes male and Gregory might as well enjoy some practice whenever and wherever he could…

__________

Of course, the lighter tone of the day, even with the shared smiles over the fabric samples for their soon-to-be bedroom, couldn’t hold when their thoughts were intruded upon once again by Mycroft’s father with the news on which they’d been waiting.

      “I do hate to interrupt the planning, my love, but Mycroft and Gregory are needed for another matter.”

Something which did not please Mummy Holmes at all, for many reasons, but most proximally for having negotiated away her right to sit on the proceedings, though it secured her an attached plant room and three hours a week with a guaranteed assistant to whom she was currently married.  She’d been gentle with her husband because of the various weights on his mind and let him believe he had struck a good bargain, but, of course, ‘sit in on’ was a marvelously nebulous concession to capitalize upon.  Listening in from one of the various hidden passageways did not, for example, violate her end of the agreement, nor did hanging from the rafters of her husband’s study in bat form.  Her dear mate really did need to focus greater attention on semantics during a negotiation session…

      “Of course.  Boys, be of good heart, for whatever is learned shall be to our benefit, regardless of how long it has been kept secret.”

Greg and Mycroft shared a look, then smiled as best they could before Mycroft took Lestrade’s hand in his own to follow his father to his study for the conversation to begin.  And he made certain he entered before his spouse to survey the scene for any possible threat to the man he loved.  Though, he had to admit, their witness was not easily described by the term ‘threatening.’  If anything, he appeared meek, with an unassuming build and look of worry on his face, but that could be attributed to the large, armed men at his side.

      “Oh god… it _is_ him.”

Mycroft tutted and patted Lestrade on the hand, while Lestrade stared wide-eyed at their guest.  A guest who was staring back with eyes just as wide.

      “G… Greg?”

      “Do not address him!  You have no right after your treachery!”

Now it was Lestrade tutting and patting as Mycroft snarled dangerously, accompanied by highly visible fangs.

      “It’s alright, love.  Will probably didn’t expect to see me.  Alive, that is.”

      “I… nobody knew what happened to you, Greg.  You vanished.  You… you never came back.”

      “To a hangman’s noose?  To a community who’d turned their back on me?  Can’t think of a single reason why I should have, can you?”

      “Enough, my dear.  You are becoming agitated and that is not something I will permit you to suffer.  Here, have a seat and remain calm.”

Which, Lestrade thought, was pretty funny coming from Mycroft, but couldn’t consider it poor advice, regardless.

      “And you, blackguard… you have knowledge of the fire that claimed Gregory’s family that you have never allowed to come to light.  Knowledge that condemned Gregory to an existence that brought him naught but pain and loneliness.  You will divulge what you know now and pray that I choose to leave you with the skin on your flesh when you are done.”

Father Holmes sighed at their witness’s audible gasp and shook his head at his son.  This was exactly the reason he’d hoped to do this alone.  Mycroft’s temper was primed to erupt and a dead witness was of very little use to them.

      “It is now your turn to be calm, Mycroft, so do take full advantage of it.  I will assure you, sir, that no physical harm is to come to you from the telling of your information.  We seek only to use what you know to free Gregory from the unjust charge laid on him, so that he might live free and unencumbered by the stain of that atrocious lie.”

      “I… I…”

      “Cease your cowardly stammering and confess your knowledge!”

      “Son, such outbursts are not helpful.  A secret long kept is, perhaps, not an easy one to reveal, isn’t that right, Mr. Stone?”

      “I don’t have any secrets to tell.”

Lestrade clamped down on Mycroft’s leg to keep his husband from jumping up to begin beating the information out of their witness and received his father-in-law’s approving nod.

      “You do, so please do not dissemble.  I assure you I would not have wasted the time and resources bringing you here if I was not completely convinced of the fact.”

      “That’s… that’s not true.”

Even Lestrade, without enhanced vampire senses could tell his former friend was lying and hoped the man would simply give up the pretense before neither him nor Mycroft’s father could hold back his husband from doing something violently rash.

      “Yet you told a different story to my men.”

      “They kidnapped me!  I… I feared that if they believed me of no use, they would kill me!”

      “No… no, I don’t think so.  You know very well that Gregory was not at fault for the fire and for compelling reason.  A reason you _will_ share with us.”

      “No.  None of that is t… true.”

This tinge of fear threading through their guest’s voice intrigued both vampires, because it was different than what had been there before.  This was not a fear of them… but of someone or something else.

      “The quavering tremolo of your voice tells a damning tale, villain.”

Lestrade loosened his squeeze on Mycroft’s leg as a reward for not hissing out the words.  Maybe some positive reinforcement would help keep his husband’s blood from boiling over.

      “My son is right.  And, I can, with little effort, think of a reason why you might not wish to speak of what you know.  If you fear that Magnussen shall do you harm…”

      “I am not afraid!”

Oh, yes he was.  That much was certain and Mycroft felt an unhelpful surge of satisfaction at the thought.  Perhaps his father had _some_ small skill at interrogation, if he was forced to make an admission…

      “Of course not… but, perhaps, worry is a better term?  And I shall not insult you by saying that your worry is entirely unfounded for Charles _is_ an evil and efficient man.  However, he has little power over those who are more practiced and skilled at villainy than is he and, I can assure you, I have centuries of practice at the craft.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his father’s bravado, but Greg smiled widely, especially since the little speech seemed to make a notable impression on their visitor.

      “I cannot… can you give assurances?”

      “If you tell me the truth, I will assure you that you will have no further concern about your welfare, at least in terms of Charles’s actions.”

Lestrade bore the fresh gaze of the key to his freedom and saw the last breeze of wind fall out of the man’s sails.

      “Then… maybe I do know something.”

      “Good.  Now, if you but explain yourself, we shall be a step further to seeing this entire matter settled for everyone.”

His father’s pleasant tone grated on Mycroft’s ears, but he couldn’t deny it was getting them to their desired goal.

      “Speak, mendicant!  Divest yourself of guilt and avoid further of our scorn!”

All eyes turned towards a side table and watched two small boys squirm out from behind it.  Apparently, Sherlock had taken a large mirror out of its frame and placed it behind the table to reflect the stone wall on the other side of the room, making it appear to be the stone wall on _that_ side of the room and conceal their snooping.

      “And, now you can be completely assured of speaking without concern for immediate safety, for who would commit a flaying or something equally dreadful in the presence of two such innocent boys.”

This time, both Mycroft’s and Lestrade’s eyes rolled, but the two budged over to make room for the boys on the sofa.

      “And, of course, I would never perpetrate anything heinous in the presence of my beloved wife.  My dear, would you care to eavesdrop a bit more comfortably?”

The tiny titter of a bat giggle sounded and a small form flew down to transform into Mycroft’s highly-pleased mother.

      “Not a bit of ‘sit in on,’ do you agree?”

One half of the head of the household smiled and bowed his head in defeat.

      “I did not make my stipulations sufficiently generic, did I?”

      “Not by a river’s width.  Now, isn’t this delightful!  And do go on, young man.  We are quite anxious to hear your tale and there might be some lovely tarts with tea when we are done.  Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Lestrade almost laughed at their guest’s confusion but decided it was probably best to keep the bastard off-footed until they got the necessary details.  On one side, being skinned alive and, on the other, tarts and tea.  One of those should be enough to push him to do the right thing.

William Stone looked around the room and decided that if he wasn’t dead yet, he wasn’t likely to be.  And tea sounded wonderful at the moment.

      “Alright.  But, you have to promise me that Magnussen won’t be able to touch me.  It’s bad enough… James’s name is going to be ruined and I don’t know what that will do to my Mum.”

That pricked up Lestrade’s ears even further and Mycroft felt gears turning in his head, forming an ugly picture in his mind.

      “Because your brother was involved in the fire.”

This nod, to answer Mycroft’s accusation, was slow in coming, but when it did, the air went out of Greg’s lungs.

      “James?  What… but he was… he was always loyal to my family!”

      “Loyalty only goes so far.”

Mycroft’s father motioned for his men to leave and leaned back against his desk to settle in for what was finally going to be what they were waiting for.

      “James was… he was a hard worker, nobody could deny that.  But, he also had a taste for wagering.  You remember those men who’d come by the mill from some of the nearby villages, Greg?  The ones your dad and the foreman had to chase off over and over again?  They’d just gather the lads and set up in the woods to the west of the mill and have some games going.  And James lost… I can’t believe how badly he lost. He had no talent for it, but wouldn’t stop.  He owed me money, owed others of the men working for your dad until… until we finally said no.  _Then_ he began to owe those that ran the games.  And he couldn’t pay.”

      “They threatened him.”

Greg got the nod he expected and felt an anger rise up that he sat on his hands to control.  He had hoped, desperately hoped, that Will had seen someone running from the house the night of the fire, or overheard a conversation at the tavern.  Someone passing through who Magnussen had hired or someone brought in for the job.  Not someone who… who had sat at their dinner table more than a few times for a good, hot meal.

      “And gave him a taste, too.  You remember that week he couldn’t work?  Said he’d taken a fall from a horse?  That was to drive the point home.”

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to feel the anger rise… well, more than it already had risen.  A tawdry, distasteful business… a man with no honor saving his skin by sacrificing a good and decent family.  This individual was now possessed of only a short time to live and ending that particular life would be very sweet, indeed.

      “I saw him… talking to Magnussen.  A few times, actually.  He wouldn’t say why, at least not at first.  I finally bothered him so much about it, I suppose, that he told me Magnussen was the key to ending his money worries.  A little favor, he said.  A small job that would keep the wolves at bay.  I never thought… after I heard the call for the fire, I saw Jim running back towards our house, smelling of alcohol, like he’d spilled in on himself, not like he’d been drinking.  He face was white as a sheet.  I asked what was wrong, but… he ran inside and I chased after the lads going to tend to the fire, because… well, that was more pressing.”

Mycroft wrapped an arm around Lestrade, for both their comfort, and spared another for the two boys were visibly upset by the story.  If he could stop it there, he would, to spare them further distress, but they had to know everything.  Nothing could be left unsaid.

      “Go on.  What happened after that?”

      “There was nothing we could do.  By the time we were there, the flames… there was nothing we could do, Greg.  You have to believe me for that, at least.  Later, when I got home, I found Jim in the bathtub behind the house.  His skin was wrinkled like he’d been in there since the moment I left.  I noticed… his clothes were next to the tub and they still smelled of alcohol, but… I could see a burned patch that I’d missed before.  So… I asked him.  I asked him very plainly if he’d done it and he said yes.  That was the last he ever spoke of it.  He never talked about the fire a single, further time, but he was never the same again.  The people in the area thought it was… he helped clear away the debris and… move your family for burial.  They thought it broke something in him to see that.  I knew better, though.  But… I don’t believe he meant for it to happen, Greg.  Burn the house or the mill, yes… force your father to sell the land for cheap, maybe, but not that.  I can’t believe he intended for anyone to get hurt.”

      “Bollocks! My family was _very_ experienced with fire and never left a window latched or a door locked so they could get out if one happened!  The only way they couldn’t make it out in time was if the fire burned hot and fast, started in multiple places, probably so it would look like I’d done it.  They were meant to die and so was I!”

Lestrade didn’t get a response, but he didn’t care.  His family was murdered and there was no denying that now.  They’d died for greed and because a cowardly man thought their lives were worth dodging the blows he rightly deserved.  It was hard to think about anything else right now.

      “You should have said something!  What are you, a coward?  You’re a miserable bastard making Greg suffer and… Mycroft let me go so I can punch him.”

The elf was squirming fiercely and Mycroft was _sorely_ tempted, but held his grip on the small boy.  There was still an official testimony to give and that would not be facilitated by a swollen lip.

      “I’m not a coward!  I’m… he was my brother!  What they would have done to him if they’d found out… and my mum… it would have killed her to hear that.  You were gone, Greg.  Run off and you never came back.  What did it matter if everyone thought it was you?  You never swung for it and… if you _had_ come back, I… I like to think I would have stepped up, especially now that James is dead.”

Mycroft let out a frustrated huff that made his mother grin.  There was very little in her son’s mind on this matter that she couldn’t predict and she gave him a mental kiss on the cheek.  He’d have to get his revenge some other way, poor thing…

      “What happened?”

Not that Greg really cared, but if it was painful and terrifying, then he’d sleep a little better today.

      “I don’t actually know.  He got sick and stayed sick.  Ultimately, I think his heart had just had enough of living.”

      “You could have said something then!  Maybe… maybe I could have come home.”

      “To what?  The foreman was keeping the mill running, but there wasn’t a house anymore.  And you didn’t have any family… nobody had heard anything about you and it had been a good three years so… why upset things when it wouldn’t make any difference to you?”

This time, Lestrade couldn’t hold back the anger, but let it flow through him and blinked back the furious tears that put a thick sheen in his eyes.

      “It would have made every difference.”

      “I didn’t see it that way.  Besides, telling what I knew… I can’t imagine Magnussen would be very happy about it.  How long would I have to live if I threw out that accusation?”

That much, at least, Greg had to concede, because the answer, most likely, was not long at all.  Feeling the energy level drop sharply in the room, everyone seemed to take a deep breath, but Sherlock’s was disturbed by something he couldn’t put his finger on.

      “John?  Did you hear that?”

Sherlock rarely whispered, so the elf actually took the question seriously.

      “No, was I supposed to?”

      “I… I suppose not.  It was likely a mouse.”

      “One of those you bribe to keep an eye on Mycroft for you?”

      “Possibly.  I shall ascertain that when we are done with this.”

John nodded and kept his ears open, but didn’t hear anything.  At least not anything he wasn’t there to hear.  Which, now, he sort of wished he hadn’t.  He didn’t like hearing about what happened to Greg’s family but it hadn’t quite seemed real up until now.  It had just been a scary story that made his stomach ache, but he couldn’t pretend anymore and that was making more than his stomach hurt.  And he couldn’t shake the urge to run home and give his parents big hugs and tell them how much he loved them.  Greg hadn’t been able to do that… tell his family he loved them before they died and that… no, he couldn’t think about things like that now…

      “Very well, I believe we have heard enough and what you have to say… I feel most certain it will convince the magistrates of Gregory’s innocence.”

      “I never said I’d testify!”

      “Oh, you will.  Failure to do so will not be to your advantage as I have no faith that I could control my son sufficiently to see your life spared.  However, you may also lose your worry that Charles will be in a position to perpetrate any retribution.  He will be in custody where his influence will buy him nothing and, given the turn of the tables, there is little doubt others will peek out from behind their fears and lend their own stories to his trial.  Now, I have a comfortable room prepared for you, so do feel free to use it to refresh yourself before tea, which should be served shortly.  Thank you, Mr. Stone.  You may not have been Gregory’s friend in this in the past, but, your assistance will go a long way towards clearing your debt to him and, by extension, my family.”

Mycroft’s father didn’t leave time for further argument and escorted their visitor to the study door to pass to his men and a housemaid who were waiting to escort him to his quarters for the duration of the trial.

      “Well… I must give Martha my sincere thanks, for her spell surely bore plentiful fruit.  Gregory, my son… how are you doing?”

Lestrade tried to clear his head, but the thick fog of both memory and the pain it carried made it hard to focus.

      “I don’t know.  I really don’t know.”

      “As is to be expected.  Mycroft why don’t you and Gregory retire to your rooms for the night?  I will see that you are not disturbed.”

Mycroft nodded and stood, carefully helping Lestrade from the sofa and guiding him out of the study for what he knew would be a long night of providing much-needed comfort.  An honor he was delighted to perform.  His husband needed him and he could finally be there to do something about it.

      “My dear, shall we see that our guest has all he needs?”

      “Of course.  Though I am most cross with him, it would not do to offer anything less than proper hospitality.  I just hope the poor man has not lied to us.  Mycroft will leave so little of him intact that it shall be a wretched burden on the staff to see to the tidying.”

And, on those concerned words, the older pair started to leave the room, then remembered who was still there, and motioned John and Sherlock out to continue on with their play.  Something neither boy was exactly enthused to do, so decided to find a preview of their coming snack and went to the kitchens instead.  However, before they could step inside, Sherlock pushed John back against the wall and put a finger over his lips to signal quiet.  Peering around the corner, and motioning John to do the same, the boys watched one of the cook’s assistants donning her cloak and, after verifying that she was not being observed, steal out of the kitchen door.  Running to the window, the pair peered above the sill to watch her run to the stable and, looking around to ensure none of the stable boys was in the vicinity, take a horse and begin to ride in the direction of the village.

      “Sherlock…”

      “We must find Father.  It appears a spy is in our midst…”


	26. Chapter 26

      “She shall die by my hand!”

Lestrade grabbed Mycroft’s arm and got dragged off the sofa, then across the floor until Mycroft turned into a bat at the window of his father’s study and found himself ensnared in his husband’s irritatingly-patient grasp.

      “Very good, Gregory.  Sometimes the best one can do is serve as an anchor for an unmoored ship.  Son, if you would kindly return to standard form, we might discuss this new information calmly and rationally.”

Since biting his husband out of frustration would be a truly dastardly, not to mention, immature act, Mycroft simply huffed a tiny bat sigh and restored his typical appearance.

      “Didn’t hurt you, did I, love?”

Lestrade smiled up from the floor and Mycroft’s anger abated a little bit more, seeing the concern and no small amount of amusement in his lover’s eyes.

      “Perish the thought.  Though I am not happy to have been chained here when my duty lies elsewhere.”

      “Your duty, son, lies where your efforts shall do the most good and that, for now, _is_ here.   Gregory, do dust off your bottom before you escort Mycroft back to his seat.  My wife does like to see the furniture clean and tidy.”

Mycroft pursed his lips in annoyance as Lestrade laughed and made a very grand show of cleaning all possible dirt from his bum after he stood and gave the exasperated vampire a kiss on his cheek.  The fact that John was laughing like a madman did not help matters in the slightest.

      “I would say that the execution of a spy is the most critical function I can perform, given, first, their treachery and, second, the need to stem the flow of information _due_ to that treachery.”

Lestrade patted the re-seated Mycroft’s leg and hoped the vampire’s blood cooled down soon.  It couldn’t be good for Mycroft to be this agitated.  But, maybe vampires were better able to handle that than humans.  That would be a good thing because he’d heard tales of humans just dropping dead from getting too upset and that was not something he wanted to happen to his beloved spouse.

      “If Plumpcroft cannot be spared to do the deed, I shall perform the execution myself!”

Sherlock had leapt from his own seat and taken a very portrait-worthy stance, as he was apt to do with his most strident proclamations, which garnered him a loud cheer from John and ‘oh dear heavens’ rolls of eyes from the rest of the room’s denizens.

      “That is truly encouraging, brother dear, however, if Father is denying me the privilege, I am most certain he will deny it to you, too.”

      “I fail to see why!  I am far more capable of enacting heinous and merciless acts on this worthless human than are you, who would be distracted by the mere scent of a cooling pie on a windowsill.”

      “Thank you for your confidence, Sherlock.  Father?”

      “Actually…”

The lightning-quick, and painful, swat on his head by his wife’s lovely hand convinced Mycroft’s father that levity at this point would not be appreciated.

      “No… no, thank you, Sherlock, but I would rather not have two trials for which to prepare at the moment.  Besides, we have little idea what information could have been passed along.  No servant has been party to any of our conversations and… you are certain, Sherlock, that you only heard noise at the door late in our discussion with our guest?”

      “Had there been a skulking human spying upon our conversations at an earlier time, I would surely have heard them.”

      “Very well.  Then, though we may not be entirely confident, it is likely that little information of a truly damaging nature has made it to the opposition.  However, even if _all_ has been divulged, there is naught to be done about it, on Charles’s part.  He will not be able to sneak an assassin within our gates and our guest shall receive the utmost protection when brought to court.  I shall set Martha immediately on crafting whatever magical protections are possible to further ensure his safety.”

      “And the traitor?  Will you simply allow her to walk free after this betrayal of our family?”

      “No, Mycroft, I will not.  However, taking action now will alert Charles that we have discovered his operative and that is not to our strategic advantage.  It will be an easy enough thing to see that our informant is kept away from areas where we might discuss issues involving the trial and, certainly, our witness’s rooms.  I shall inform the senior members of our staff to adopt a stringent idle hands and idle minds philosophy for the duration and keep close watch on our quarry.  Further, I will direct the stable hands not to let the horses be unobserved at any time and to disallow their use to anyone besides our immediate family.  Actually, I may simply have that conversation with the horses directly and keep the matter even closer to vest.   We must appear as if we are unaware of the actions against us so that no others are implemented.”

Mycroft very much wanted to damage something to a point where it was no longer recognizable as a form of matter, however, some of what his father said rang true, so he stayed his hand for the present.  Once the trial was completed, however, no mercy should be expected and none would be given, regardless of his father’s opinion on the subject.

      “If you believe that is best.”

      “I do, son.  I know you do not share that viewpoint and I respect that, however, one’s desire for revenge cannot undo the greater scheme for which one is working.  Sherlock, John… thank you for bringing this so quickly to our attention.  Consider your purse doubled for the next venture you make to Martha’s shop.”

The two small boys rubbing their hand with avaricious glee cut through the tension of the room and settled Lestrade’s nerves rather well, he thought.  No matter what happened at trial, his family would continue on and have a wonderful life.  At its worst, it would be simply as if had vanished.  There one day and not the next, but they’d be alright.  Safe, well and able to go on without him.  Nothing was more important than that.

      “While you dole out your various bribes and incentives, Father, Gregory and I shall return to our rooms and will not appreciate any disturbance.  From anyone.”

The glare Mycroft set on the boys actually brought a squawk from the elf who held out some small hope that when they were able to go after the snake and, now, this spy, Mycroft wouldn’t get to have all the fun.  He wanted to get a few punches in himself.  Hard punches, too.  Maybe Sherlock had a potion or something to make his muscles really strong so his punches were something those evil people would never forget.  At least as long as Mycroft kept them alive.  They’d work on that tonight.  A punching potion shouldn’t be out of Teeny Fang’s range.  Especially not after he _told_ Sherlock he thought it was out of his range…

__________

      “Calm down, love.”

      “I shall not.  Not until this situation has been rectified.”

Lestrade ran a hand up and down Mycroft’s back as the two walked down the corridor to their rooms and, once inside, steered his husband directly to the small sofa near the fire.

      “Here, have a seat and I’ll pour some wine.”

      “I have no desire to become intoxicated.”

Surly bastard.  Unfortunately, his Mycroft was positively adorable when he was surly, so the firestarter couldn’t even start a good fight to let his vampire lose more of his frustration.

      “Well, I’m up for a little of it, so you can either join me or watch me get a boozy, rosy glow all by myself.”

Gregory’s libation glow was utterly breathtaking.  His spouse certainly had no intention of playing fairly this night, the cad.

      “Fine.  I shall accept my portion, but with a duly-noted objection.”

      “That’s fair.  Now…”

Lestrade took a seat next to his husband and smiled as comfortingly as he could.

      “… it’s going to be alright.  You know that, don’t you?”

      “No!  I mean… I have full faith that you will be returned to me, however…”

      “This spy wasn’t something you expected and, now, you’re wondering what _else_ is happening that you’re not expecting and aren’t quite as full of faith as you were?”

Mycroft snarled and said nothing, though he really didn’t have to, for Lestrade easily read the look in his eyes.  His vampire didn’t like being surprised, probably had it happen only rarely and for something like this… his poor Mycroft was severely off-footed and not handling it well.

      “I think your dad’s right, if that helps.  What can Magnussen do?  If he’s smart and knows the information we got, he’ll be running as far and fast as he can and that’s just going to make this easier for us.  If he doesn’t know, then he’s going to get an ugly shock and we get the fun of watching it happen.  Either way, we win.”

      “If Magnussen knows…”

      “Knows what?  Sherlock doesn’t think that kitchen girl heard much, so all they know is that we’ve brought someone from home to speak in my defense.”

      “The brother of the man Magnussen paid to start the fire.  I believe Charles can make the appropriate connection.”

      “Maybe.  Maybe not.  There’s no use worrying about it now, is there?  What will happen will happen and… let’s just think good thoughts, how about that?”

Mycroft sighed and took a long sip of his wine.  His love was likely correct, but that was not, really, the most important issue.  He must appear positive and confident, regardless of any internal misgivings.  He had a responsibility to keep his husband’s spirits high and this visible unease was certainly not helping to achieve that goal.

      “Yes, that is precisely what we shall do.  Our victory is assured, given the information we possess and there is really no manner in which it might be otherwise.  As always, you perceive the situation with perfect clarity, despite the maelstrom of happenstance that might fuddle a lesser mind such as mine.”

      “Listen to you!  Sounding all drunk after one sip of wine.  _All_ minds are lesser compared to yours, love.  Smartest man in the world – that’s who I married, no matter what Sherlock might have to say on the matter.”

That, finally, brought a smile to Mycroft’s lips as he pondered the vast and varied things his brother _would_ have to say on the topic.

      “His opinion would certainly be worthy of transcribing for future scholars to study were they hoping to advance their knowledge in the field of hysterical tantrums.”

      “We’ll save that for when we have a boring afternoon ahead of us, then.  How about a good book with our wine?  It’s… it’s strange to say it’s early yet when its actually cripplingly late for me, but its early and I wouldn’t mind a little time to relax.  It’s been a rough day.  Night.  Now, it’s me sounding all drunk!”

      “A bit of reading sounds most enjoyable.  I do very much take pleasure discussing with you what I read and hearing your perspective on the material.”

      “Then reading it is!  Books, wine, a fire and a brilliant, gorgeous man to share it with me.  Can’t ask for better than that!”

Something with which Mycroft had to agree.  Even the simple things with his husband were profoundly enjoyable and he treasured every moment of time they spent together.  Knowing well, now, how it felt to be separated, those moments were more precious than ever.  Now, he just had to make certain they had a full lifetime of moments to share…

__________

_What was that smell? Smelled a lot like… no.  Oh no.  Not again.  Not here.  NOT NOW!!!_

Lestrade leapt out of bed, found himself surrounded by a room on fire and wanted to vomit from the flood of images that leapt into his mind, both from the past and from the present.  A nightmare… a bloody fucking nightmare and this happens… but cutting himself to ribbons could wait.  Something else was far more important…

      “MYCROFT!  WAKE UP!”

Several very hard shakes did nothing but earn him his husband wriggling slightly and making a disgruntled face while still very fast asleep.

      “Mycroft!  Wake up!  You _need_ to wake up!!!”

_Hmmmm_ _… something… no._ _No… time to sleep.  Sleep… why… ow!  OW!  And… what was that smell…_

      “Grgy?”

      “Please wake up, Mycroft!”

      “Pffftt.”

      “Wake up!  Oh, fuck this!”

_This wasn’t comfortable.  Need to sleep… silly Gregory…_

      “Why are you so heavy!”

      “Sleep…”

      “No, not now.  Come on, love.  Help me here.”

Lestrade struggled to get the dead weight of the vampire out of their bed, which was beginning to blaze merrily away like much of the furnishings and wall coverings in the room and swore loudly as he banged his shin against the heavy frame of a chair that was rude enough to get in his way as he tried to see through the growing smoke to find the door.

      “Wake up, Mycroft.  Please…”

But, that wasn’t going to happen, or, Lestrade suspected, at least not until flames were licking his vampire’s flesh, so he dug deep into his strength and hooked his arms around his spouse, to pull him to where he thought he’d find the bedroom door, feeling a large wave of relief when his sense of direction actually worked to his advantage and he was able to pull his husband into the corridor.  Then it was a dash to pound on… not any of the vampire’s doors, so it had to be the human staff, who roused easily enough when the call of ‘Fire!’ went up.  Though, even with the size of the staff on hand, it took quite awhile for the fire to be thoroughly doused.  The fire which had left his and Mycroft’s bedroom a mass of wet ashes and crumbling furniture.

And, which had left his Mycroft with burns on his arms.  Apparently a vampire _could_ sleep through getting licked by flames and now his beautiful Mycroft was hurt and it was his fault.  Because his brain went into a bad place after he’d fallen asleep and started a nightmare that… well, that went the way a lot of his nightmares had gone in his life.  Right into flames and pain and people he loved suffering because of him.  No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t safe.   Never safe for anyone…

      “Gregory?”

Lestrade jerked out of his reverie and turned to stare into his father-in-law’s very drowsy eyes.

      “You… you’re awake.  I tried, but he didn’t… I really tried but I couldn’t… …”

The young firestarter felt tears threatening to spill and sniffed them back.  He didn’t deserve the release of crying.  His Mycroft… it was a rare thing _he_ woke up when he started a fire in his sleep and if he hadn’t…

      “Wake Mycroft?  No, I suspect you couldn’t.  There _are_ ways to wake a vampire from a sound sleep, but they’re not for the faint of heart and highly dangerous, to boot.  Only my valet and my wife’s maid have any idea how to do so with some measure of safety and… let us say , I owe my man a few days free for nearly taking his head off his shoulders when he brought me around.  I can show you, though.  It’s our fault that we didn’t do this sooner.”

      “It’s MY fault!  I’m the one who started the fire and I’m the one who put Mycroft in danger!  It’s always my fault and… Mycroft could have died because of me!”

The older man grabbed his son-in-law in a firm embrace and didn’t let him go until the tremors that were wracking Lestrade’s body began to subside.

      “First… Mycroft would have been alright.  Hurt, yes, but as long as there was a window or door to use, he would have woken and been able to escape.  He would not have slept through a real burning, Gregory.”

      “Look at his arms!”

      “Which mostly will be healed by sunset.  That is a minor thing, but a real burning… he _would_ have woken and made his way to safety.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes.  Barring being bound or imprisoned in a manner to hold a vampire…”

      “Which can happen!  If the door had been locked or the windows barred… there’s so much smoke and you can’t see and there’s pain and you hear screaming…”

Lestrade was drawn into a tighter, yet careful, hug and left there while the memories ran through him and he fought to get away from them, his father-in-law and everybody else he could possibly hurt in this world.  After a very long while, two inhumanly strong arms were loosened and, sensing no fight left in his captive, finally dropped so Lestrade could move away and pull the last few threads of himself together.

      “If I thought you were truly a danger to my son, Gregory, I would not have permitted the marriage.”

      “I _am_ a danger to him.”

      “It may seem that way and, given the right circumstances, you may be correct.  But not here and not now.  Mycroft is fine.  Look at him, sleeping like a baby, drool and all.”

The first tiny crack in Lestrade’s distress showed itself as he looked down at his husband, who was sleeping on the floor of the corridor, covered by a blanket one of the staff had nicely laid over him.

      “We can talk, son.  Anytime you want or need to talk, you shall have my ear.  And I will speak to Martha about this.  I know she is hoping to break your curse but, in the meantime, maybe it is possible for her to fashion some form of spell to more easily wake the family should something… warm and toasty… occur.  I shall undertake this immediately if it will lay your mind to rest.”

Lestrade took a deep breath and forced himself to continue breathing in something approaching a normal rate.

      “I’d… I’d appreciate that.  All of that, I mean.  But, I don’t think I’ll be able to put this out of my mind.  I never have and after tonight… until everyone I care about can be safe… it’s always going to be in my head.  It will _always_ be my biggest fear.”

Having children wasn’t easy, even when the children weren’t of your own blood, but Mycroft’s father was determined to do his best for the newest member of his family.  The poor boy… life seemed determined to fire its most vicious arrows at his heart and not let him settle into any semblance of a peaceful home.  But, this family, as did his last, would love him despite the curse hanging over his head and work tirelessly to make his life with them as joyful and contented as possible.

      “I have no doubt and the fear of anything happening to one’s family is a fear I completely understand.  To fear being the one who _brings_ their downfall, however… that goes beyond my understanding for I cannot imagine anything so horrifying.  Now, let me see… oh.  You did quite the thorough job of necessitating a redecoration of your rooms.”

One practiced eye looked over the damage and the root of Lestrade’s worry was even more painfully evident.  If the doors and windows _had_ been inaccessible, there was a very good chance his son would have been gravely harmed, requiring a long and painful healing, if he survived at all.  Only the heaviest and sturdiest furnishings had survived with any structure intact.  Fortunately, their home was built of very aged stone and timbers that were nearly stone themselves…

      “I’m… I’m sorry, sir.  I’m really sorry and I’ll… I’ll clean everything and fix what I can.”

      “Thank you, Gregory, but I pay people quite handsomely for those sorts of things.  And my dear wife shall likely relish the opportunity for another decorating project.  It _will_ be alright, son, I promise you.  There is no significant damage to the structure and we’ve easily enough furniture in this house to fill another ten bedrooms without purchasing a single new piece.  Here, let me help you with Mycroft.  He’s heavier than he looks.”

      “He is!  It… it wasn’t easy getting him out of the bedroom.”

      “You did it, though.  Don’t forget that you _did_ do it and I have full faith you could have dragged him completely out of this house if you had the need.  _And_ come back for the rest of us.  You take his arms and I’ll handle his legs.”

Lestrade nodded, but a good part of that nod was for the confidence his father-in-law had in him.  It wasn’t a confidence _he_ felt, but it helped.  This was the lowest, the worst, about his life and his father-in-law wasn’t tossing him out.  Wasn’t yelling or beating him into a bloody pulp.  He was… he was doing what his own dad used to do and that was something he never thought he’d find again.

Settling Mycroft into another bedroom to finish his day’s sleep, Lestrade got another long hug and a promise that none of tonight’s troubles changed a thing about how welcome he was in the Holmes family, before he was left alone so his new father could get another few hours of his own rest while the firestarter kept watch over his husband.  And keep watch was certainly the plan for the day, because under no circumstances would he be sleeping.  Sleep meant dreams and dreams weren’t safe.  Tomorrow, he’d have more than two glasses of wine before bedtime and maybe he’d sleep so hard that the dreams couldn’t come.  He couldn’t destroy this house room by room just because his mind was having a hard time with things at the moment.  You’d think with freedom potentially in his clutches, his stupid brain would be happy, but… too many ghosts were being dug up from their graves and they were more than happy to haunt him, even when he slept…

__________

Hmmm… this was wrong.  This neither felt nor smelled like their bed and where was the blessed heat of his husband’s body?  Actually… where was the _body_ of his husband’s body?

      “Gregory?”

      “Here, love.  I’m here.”

Lestrade set down the book he’d found and walked over to sit next to Mycroft on the bed.

      “What… where are we?”

      “Had to move to another room.”

Mycroft rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around to find a room he recognized, but simply by the fact that the walls around him were made of familiar stone.

      “I see.  And may I know the reason we had to relocate?”

Not that, suddenly, Mycroft had any desire to know the reason if it was the cause of the darkness that quickly flooded his husband’s lovely eyes.

      “I… I destroyed the other one.”

      “Destroyed?  Oh… oh, my dear…”

Mycroft sat up and wrapped his arms around his spouse, who appeared as if he was seconds from dissolving into a puddle of despair.

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft.  I’m so, so sorry.  All your books and things…”

      “Hush, my beloved… none of that is important.”

      “It is!”

      “No, it is not.  Anything that is replaceable is nothing over which to fret.”

      “I can’t replace you, though, can I?”

Now, the dissolution was at hand and Mycroft held his lover while he wept.  His poor husband… what had happened during the day he could only imagine, but he couldn’t deny the tendrils of sadness that were now threading through his body.  His love had lived through such many times and… what a dreadful thing for anyone to suffer, let alone when it ended in more than the loss of a few toys and trinkets.

      “I am here with you now and with nary a scratch, my dear.  Please do not dwell upon it.”

      “T… take another look.”

Mycroft furrowed his brow in confusion, but obediently gave himself a glance-over and found the source of the small sting from his embrace of his distraught spouse.  Apparently, he has not escaped as unscathed as he had assumed.

      “Ah, I see.  Barely the consequence of ingesting too-hot soup without proper blowing upon your spoon.”

      “That’s what you’re seeing _now_.”

Something Mycroft recognized, but hoped to conceal from his partner, something he now realized was foolish since his partner was the one who, most likely, pulled him from the fire.

      “Yes, that is true.  But, regardless of the situation beforehand, you see what I wake to now, do you not?  And in but an hour or so, there shall be no sign at all that anything was amiss.”

      “It _was_ there, though, and it could have been worse.  I woke before things were too bad, but it hasn’t always been like that.”

Mycroft stroked his husband’s hair and continued to hold him gently, knowing that currently flying through his lover’s mind was every single time his Gregory had hurt someone with his abilities, each delivering a powerful and mighty blow to the man who already had a bounty to endure just from the ills of the present.

      “I know it has not, my dear, but we cannot, we simply _cannot_ , dwell on what _might_ have been.  I am perfectly well and, I suspect, rescued by your own strength and perseverance.  You did not fail me, or yourself.”

      “I could have killed you!”

      “Highly unlikely.  The effort required to do so makes the situation most improbable.”

      “That’s what your dad said, but…”

      “Oh, Father was awake?”

      “His valet woke him.  I guess it was something of its own effort, too.  I couldn’t wake you, though.  I tried, I really did try, but I just couldn’t.”

Giving his agitated partner a soft kiss, the vampire repositioned to take Lestrade more fully in an embrace.

      “I have no doubt.  Not a single, solitary doubt.  You would have done everything in your power to rouse me and I am completely unsurprised that you met with utter failure.  Once we sleep, we sleep a deep, nearly-unbreakable sleep.  There _are_ ways to bring us awake, however…”

      “Your dad said he’d show me.  Said they weren’t without their own danger, but I don’t care.  I want to be able to wake you when this happens again.  I _need_ to be able to do that, no matter what happens to me.”

‘When this happens again.’  Not if, but when.  His poor, tortured Gregory…

      “Then we shall commence with the lessons at our earliest opportunity.  Now, let us survey our former domain, shall we?  I will admit to no small curiosity as to what I slept through so soundly.”

      “I don’t want you to have to see that, love.”

      “I know, to you, it is a painful thing.  A shameful thing, even.  To me, however, it is not.  It is a testament to both your staggering power and your courage.  Give me a moment to dress.  Actually, do I have anything in which to dress?”

Lestrade cocked an eye at his vampire and found himself unable to grasp how easily Mycroft shrugged off everything that had occurred.  It was truly as if it didn’t bother him in the least.  And there were no wounds to tend, no bandages to check and change, no tears to wipe and cries of pain to listen to as they sawed through his heart and left it in thin, bloody strips.  He loved his Mycroft, loved him with his whole being and would love him no matter who he was.  Having him be a vampire, however… this shouldn’t be making him feel better, but it was.  _Slightly_ , but slightly still counted…

      “One of your staff brought something for us to wear and we can ring for a bath if we’d like.  I… I cleaned you up as best I could with some water and a cloth, but I’m sure you’d be happier with a proper bath to really get the smoke and grime off of you.”

Something Mycroft was now beginning to notice, much to his displeasure.  His Gregory might think the burns were the troublesome part of the experience, but he was entirely incorrect.  Fires were incredibly messy things, damn them…

      “Then, let us begin with that.  One lovely bath and then a view of the day’s excitement before a hearty breakfast.  We do need to see us both well fed and rested for tomorrow…”

Lestrade closed his eyes and wished there was a magic spell to just make him disappear.

      “The trial begins.  I’d sort of forgotten about that, actually.”

      “I suspect the depths of your mind did not and that is why… it was a nightmare, was it not, that prompted the fire?  You spoke of it happening in the past.”

      “Yeah.  I can’t even tell you what it was about, but I remember feeling trapped and scared and… the next thing I know…”

Hands waved about in a pantomime of flames and Mycroft chuckled at the small return to normalcy for his vibrant husband.

      “Something which makes, to my mind, perfect sense.  There is an inordinate amount of stress upon you, Gregory.  Your very life has been at stake and, with the enforced imprisonment… it is quite the miracle that such did not happen while you languished in your cell!  Perhaps, only now, in the bosom of your family does your mind sufficiently comfortable and safe to examine those feelings and process the hardships you have endured of late.  Regardless, this is something we shall see through together, so do not feel alone or distressed.  So, shall you ring for the bath or shall I?”

This time, it was Lestrade who initiated the kiss and felt a deluge of weight slough off his shoulders.  He might not understand his spouse’s aplomb, but he would hold fast to it as tightly as he could.  His Mycroft was a wonder.  A rather sooty wonder, but a wonder, nonetheless…

__________

      “Oh look, we are beaten to the scene by the household pests.”

      “Hey!  You watch your mouth, pervert vampire.”

Mycroft shook his head at the small elf, who was picking his way through the remains of their bedroom.  What little of it there was… the vampire knew the damage would likely be substantial, but seeing it with his own eyes was a very different matter.

      “You did a great job of making charcoal, Greg.  What happened?  Did your perverted husband do something disgusting and you had to fend him off with whoosh!”

John’s pantomime of flames closely resembled Lestrade’s, something Mycroft decided would serve to tip the scales in favor of him not smothering John to death with the charred remnants of one of his rugs.

      “Thanks, you little bastard.  And this isn’t funny.  Mycroft could have really been hurt.”

      “That’s not what Sherlock said.  Isn’t that right, Sherlock?”

The other household pest looked up from his examination of the debris and nodded sagely.

      “Mycroft has sufficient fat stores that they would insulate his inner, vital regions for quite some time before there was any danger of fatality.”

Now, it was John nodding sagely and Mycroft simply pushed past him to get a better look at his former bedchamber.

      “Hey!  That’s rude!”

      “Do discuss the matter with my husband.  I am certain he shall outline most succinctly for you the concept of equity in matters of manners.”

      “What?”

      “That’s Mycroft’s way of saying don’t be an arse.  Come on, let’s have a look around.”

John stuck his tongue out at the firestarter, ready to slurp it back into his mouth if Lestrade showed any signs of trying to set it on fire.  How a person could set something as wet as a tongue on fire, John didn’t know, but seeing the damage in the bedroom… if anyone could do it, it _would_ be Greg.

      “Well, brother dear, are you finding anything of interest?”

      “I have had no previous opportunity to study the damage caused by a firestarter.  I hope to compare it to the damage from a naturally-occurring fire and find points of differentiation, so if an event occurs, the source of the problem could more readily be determined.”

Apparently, his brother was as concerned about Gregory’s future as was he.  Not that his love would ever again be accused of such a heinous crime, it was always a good thing to be prepared.  Now it would simply be a matter of keeping Sherlock from using another bedroom as his experimental control and saving Father from the purchase of yet another room of furnishings.

      “I see.  Very scholastic of you.”

      “Already I have learned many things, including the fact that I am an incomparable practitioner of the magical arts.”

Sherlock reached into the small sack tied to his waist and extracted the one thing Mycroft had hoped to salvage from the chaos.

      “My dear tiny Gregory.”

      “ _My_ influence figure.”

Not after it was plucked from Sherlock’s fingers and cradled in Mycroft’s arms like a much-loved infant.

      “I see.  You intend to continue your lecherous imaginings with your spousal surrogate.”

      “I intend to continue seeing him safely protected from further spell casting and nefarious purposes.”

      “I am not nefarious!”

      “Something we may gladly debate over breakfast.  Now, let us see what else weathered this particular storm intact.”

      “Nothing, as far as I have observed…”

A truth Mycroft’s eyes were unhappily telling him.  His Gregory would feel so miserably guilty, regardless of the transitory nature of the bibs and bobs that were his possessions.  Well, it was both his honor and his privilege to assuage that guilt, even if it meant replacing each item with a duplicate to demonstrate just how easy it was to… no, perhaps that was not the right tactic.  For him, replacement of goods was a simple thing.  For someone who had suffered such poverty, a vulgar display of wealth might not be the effective strategy.  Or maybe it was… it was so difficult to know what to do sometimes.  He would simply have to rely on his heart and his instincts and muddle through as best he could.  At minimum, his husband would appreciate the honest and hopeful effort…

      “… however, I am also going to experiment on the use of materials burned by a firestarter in several spells I am attempting to craft, so this ruination might be of some use.”

      “I see.  And where might my various silver pieces be at the moment?  Those are not reducible to ash.”

Sherlock’s pointed lack of look at John told Mycroft that the elf’s own sack was bulging for a very different reason that his younger brother’s.

      “John, do at least return the candlesticks to me, if you would be so kind.  They are actually to my taste and I had hoped to bring them to Gregory and my new home.  The rest you may do with as you please.”

      “I didn’t steal anything!”

Lestrade snatched the sack from John’s waist and upturned it onto the floor, laughing at the diversity of items the elf didn’t steal.

      “These ones, love?”

Two candlesticks were plucked from the silver horde and Mycroft smiled broadly.

      “Yes, I do find them attractive and believe they will suit the bedroom in our own home quite nicely.”

      “I agree.  Sorry, John, but these are staying with us.”

      “Look, stuff that’s been abandoned is fair game.”

      “How on Earth could you assume all of this had abandoned?”

      “Nobody was here to claim them, was there?”

Lestrade had no idea whether he should scold or laugh at John, so he settled for turning away and joining Mycroft in the poke around the room, so the elf could stuff his spoils back into his sack.

      “I’ll say it again, Mycroft… I am so very sorry for this.”

Mycroft leaned in to kiss his lover and wished he could do more to salve the tender heart that beat in his Gregory’s chest.

      “I know that with utmost certainty, my dear, and I reiterate that the situation is not causing me the upset I believe you fear.  I consider it, oddly, a fortunate thing.  If… when… Mrs. Hudson breaks your curse, there shall never be another occasion such as this and if I had never experienced it, I would not have a true inkling of what has been dogging your heels for so very long.  What has caused you such grief and heartache.  It is one thing to hear the tales, but it is quite another to witness it firsthand.  It is a good thing, I believe, from that standpoint.  Also, how would John have come into his windfall if it were not for this turn of events?  His coffers shall veritably overflow with wealth now that he has pilfered from us whatever his little hands can carry.”

John’s affronted shout made the married couple laugh and share a victory kiss which gained them the extra entertainment of two small boys gagging and retching with the force of a victim of some unknown, yet savagely debilitating disease.

      “Oh dear… did the two of you swallow some ash or is your romance allergy giving you a problem again?”

Mycroft smiled at his mother’s voice and at the way she carefully held up her skirt to save it from a soot-blackened hem.

      “John and I are busy.  Do not speak to us.”

      “Busy dying, from the sound of it.  And look at you two… all healed, Mycroft, or do you need a little of Martha’s burn cream?”

      “I am perfectly well, though Gregory could use some assurance on that issue.”

Mycroft’s mother barely spared a glance at her son’s slightly-reddened arms, having already wrested every detail of the story from her husband.

      “He’s fine, Gregory.  And, even if he wasn’t, we keep on hand enough burn cream because of Sherlock’s nonsense that he could be a blackened husk and we’d have him right as rain in no time.  Now, since your new house won’t be ready for several weeks, let us begin readying a new suite of rooms for you.  After breakfast, of course, but there’s no time like the present to begin thinking about such things. We shall take some time to look through our current stock of furnishings and bedcoverings and see what would be best for the two of you while you are in residence.  Oh!  And did John not find those candlesticks?  I rather thought he’d have _everything_ of value in his pockets by now…”

Both John and Sherlock’s roars of protest serenaded anyone within earshot and Lestrade took a deep breath before laughing long and hard at the nonsense.  This was his family now.  Just as accepting and loving as his original one, though a lot loonier.  At this point in his life, though, he appreciated a bit of loony in his day…


	27. Chapter 27

      “Well, look who it is!  Remembered old Mrs. Hudson and decided to come for a visit or do you need something?”

Mycroft and Greg realized they were the only ones available to answer since Sherlock and John had already begun filling their shopping list, which was as long as Mycroft’s arm.

      “A little of both, I believe.  Gregory and I had intentions to visit before the start of the trial, but matters… we might also seek your counsel and assistance for several things.”

      “Greg burned the castle down.”

      “I did not!”

Sherlock supported his friend’s assertion with a solemn nod and Mycroft sighed loudly at the growing tale of family woe.  Soon it would be that Gregory laid waste to an entire forest and a nest of basilisks. 

      “That is a gross exaggeration, John, and you are well aware of the fact.”

      “Oh, Greg… what happened?”

Mycroft slid an arm around his husband’s waist and followed after the witch who motioned them to the back of the shop for a little talk.

      “Here, have a seat and I’ll get us a little something to warm the bones while you tell me what happened.”

A chair was slid out from the table and Mycroft motioned Greg to have a seat, hoping his smile was sufficiently encouraging to comfort his spouse as they began the conversation.

      “I… well, I had a nightmare and sort of… turned our bedroom into a campfire.”

The witch nodded because, from the firestarter’s long face, he wasn't likely exaggerating.

      “You poor dear… nobody was hurt, though, or you’d be more upset than you are now.”

      “Mycroft _was_ hurt.”

      “Hush, my dear.  We have already trod that ground and you are well aware that my ridiculously minor singeing is of no consequence whatsoever.”

      “Ooh, got a little burn did you, Mycroft?  Hope it wasn’t anyplace _delicate_.”

      “Mrs. Hudson… really.”

Trust the woman to go directly to something salacious, as well as embarrassing.  This sort of thing should never be of any surprise…

      “Just looking out for your interests and making it very clear that I wouldn’t be rubbing any burn cream on certain places.  You’ve got a husband for that.”

Greg laughed and felt more of his lingering anxiety melt away.  Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem very concerned about the whole business and he had a suspicion that if she was, she wouldn’t try and hide it.

      “I am beginning to believe this visit was an exceedingly poor decision.”

      “Oh, Mycroft… what a silly thing you are sometimes, dear.  Anyway, that wasn’t the reason you came to see me.  Why don’t we get to that bit, what do you say?”

A plate of biscuits was set on the small table and it magically called up two small demonic creatures who snatched it and ran back into the main shop area, cackling at their success.  Try as she might, Mrs. Hudson couldn’t work up any real anger for it, either.  Luck favored the brave and those two were braver than most…

      “Well, you have to admire their brashness.  Of course they might not be so happy if they take a bite and spiders crawl out.”

      “You… you wouldn’t really do that, would you?”

Mrs. Hudson turned and grinned at Greg.  He was so cute when he worried about the miseries.

      “I would, but it’s actually a bit complicated and takes an herb or two that aren’t the cheapest.  I’ll save that particular spell for another time.  Now, what can I do for you?”

Mycroft patted his partner’s hand and gave him a silent ‘shall I?’ look and was very happy when Lestrade nodded yes.  His husband did not need one bit of extra grief or stress because of any of this nonsense.  His strength should be saved completely for the trial.  Which began before the next sunset.

      “Gregory and I are hopeful that you might know of some spell or potion which might facilitate waking a vampire from their day’s slumber.  He was terribly upset that he could not rouse me during… the incident.”

      “Oh, well, that’s smart.  There’s a couple of options for that actually, and we can talk about which one works best for you.  And I presume you want the rest of the family covered, too.”

      “Yes!  I mean… the house is mostly stone, but, I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

The witch’s heart broke a little hearing the sad desperation in Lestrade’s voice.  He was such a good soul and had far too many troubles and worries for one so young.

      “Then that’s what we’ll do.  Once we’ve got this trial off our necks, that’s going to be my first order of business.  Of course, we’ve still got to work on breaking your curse, so it might not be needed at all.”

      “That’s my best hope, but… I just want Mycroft and his family to be safe.”

      “I know you do, lad.  Now, what other news do you have for me?”

While Lestrade sipped his tea, Mycroft provided the details of their latest problem with Magnussen.

      “A spy!  Good heavens, that man is bold.  Well, I suppose the stakes are high and he doesn’t seem the type to shy away from bold action when there’s something big on the line.”

      “You are most correct.  The worry, now, is that Magnussen has knowledge of the nature of our witness’s information.  This could be a grave danger for the man’s welfare, as well as the disposition of our case.”

      “Ooh… I can’t say you don’t have a point.  Your dad told me the story and… I’m so sorry Greg.  It can’t have been easy to hear all of that.  What a horrible business.  Simply horrible.”

Mycroft wrapped an arm around his husband’s shoulders and felt some relief that Lestrade’s muscles weren’t locked tight with tension.  This had been so much to bear… when the trial was over, he would declare himself off-limits to father and any matters of business so he could concentrate fully on his husband.  Gregory needed time, attention and affection and he would receive it all in unlimited supply.

      “I suppose there’s some good from finally knowing the truth.  It doesn’t make anything hurt less, but… at least I _know_.  All this time, I was right and I don’t have to live with questions anymore.”

But, the witch could clearly see that the getting his answers hadn’t really done much to fill the emptiness as much as he had likely hoped it would.  But, he didn’t need her pointing that out… 

      “Peace of mind is surely a blessing, even it if isn’t much of a comfort.”

      “It is of great importance that others hear this story, so that all who know Gregory shall also have peace of mind on the subject and… if there is something you can do to help assure that, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Mrs. Hudson cut eyes at Mycroft and wondered what he thought she could do.

      “What do you think _I_ can do?”

      “If there is any way… could you affect any protections for our witness?  I would not discount the possibility of actions being taken against him to prevent his testimony.”

      “Hmmmm… well, I can work up an amulet to protect him from magical influences if you get me a little hair or nail trimmings.  Blood would be best, but that might not make your fellow very happy.”

      “His happiness is not my concern.  His ability to give Gregory his freedom is the only relevant matter, however, we did anticipate the need for some personal samples.”

Mycroft reached into his pocket and drew out a small pouch which contained various materials collected from their guest.

      “Oh… this will do nicely, actually.  Keep our little songbird safe from most of what could be thrown at him.  What it won’t ward off… I don’t know anybody in the area who could pull off those sorts of spells  and if your Magnussen had brought in someone to make that sort of mischief, I’d know.”

      “Excellent.  Then we shall consider that a closed issue.  Now, on the subject of physical threats…”

      “That I can’t do much about.”

Mycroft blinked a few times and Lestrade wondered if his husband’s brain had accidentally gone to sleep and not informed the rest of him.

      “P… pardon?”

      “If you’re hoping I can make him invulnerable to knives and clubs and the like… it can be done, but it takes time and it only lasts a short while.  Now, if I see something happening, I can put a stop to it, but… if you want a blanket spell to keep your lad worry-free about a slit throat, it’s not going to happen.”

Lestrade smiled softly and rubbed the pouty vampire’s arm.  Mycroft was not going to be happy until this whole business was long behind them and not a bit of its shadow dogged their footsteps.

      “We understand, Mrs. Hudson.  You’ll do everything you can, I know you will.”

      “I will, Greg.  I’ll have this amulet ready for you by the time those evil little puppies finish their shopping and I’ll be with you at your trial.   Actually, I’ll even travel with you lot to and from so if there’s any way I can be of help, I’ll… well, I’ll be there to help!”

      “Something for which we are profoundly grateful, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “We are not puppies!”

Mycroft sighed at his brother’s strident proclamation, and took ample note of the _empty_ plate being clutched in a pair of very small elf hands.

      “Yeah!  Why does everybody keep saying that?”

      “Because you behave like them, you little villains!  Stealing food, rooting about in other people’s things, showing your tiny teeth every time a leaf gives you the bent eye, watering my flowers in a way that I specifically did _not_ ask you to water them.”

      “Hey!  That was only one time and I really had to go!”

      “And I have never urinated on your ridiculous vegetation!”

      “You’re still evil puppies and don’t think you aren’t.  Didn’t leave one biscuit for Mycroft and Greg, did you?  _Greedy_ , evil puppies is the proper story.”

      “If they are too stupid or physically inept to guard their spoils, then…”

The outcome of that statement was forever lost as the shrill bark simply lacked the relevant information to make the message meaningful.

      “Oh dear.”

Mycroft put his head in his hands and hoped this was a very temporary state of affairs.

      “Look at them!  Cute little buggers, aren’t they?  Come here, boys.  Come to ol’ Greg and let him give you a good pat.”

Sherlock snarled as ferociously as a small, dainty puppy could, but John happily scampered over to Greg to get his pat and scratch between the ears, which made the witch smile happily.

      “There.  That should give us a little peaceful time to talk.  Keep a close watch on them, though, you two.  Puppies can get into all sorts of mischief and… Sherlock!  You let go of Mycroft’s trouser leg!  No!  Bad, Sherlock!  Look at the hole you put in your brother’s trousers.  And being all smug about it, too.  Well, I’m bringing out the good biscuits and you can’t steal them this time what with being a hand high.”

The barking and snarling from both puppies failed to earn them a single treat from Mrs. Hudson, though Greg snuck a biscuit and broke it in two, feeding one half to the grateful John and suffering nipped fingers from a bastardy Sherlock.

      “Gregory, dear, you shall spoil them.”

      “You’re supposed to spoil puppies.”

      “But, it shall ingrain in them a habit of begging, and that is not for the good.”

      “Just a little begging.”

      “No.  I shall not suffer my meals with two beady-eyed creatures staring up at me from beside my chair and HELL AND DAMNATION!”

Mycroft leapt up and danced a little to dislodge the puppies whose teeth were still clamped around his ankle.  Greg did his best not to laugh and to sound very stern with his admonition of the dogs’ fiendish behavior.

      “Sherlock and John!  No biting!  In the corner, the both of you!  No… don’t even try making those eyes at me.  Go sit by the hearth and, if you’re very lucky, we’ll remember to take you with us when we leave for home.”

John tried whimpering, then wagging his tail and lifting a paw to shake, but Greg remained firm and continued to point towards the fire in the kitchen, until two disgruntled puppies trotted over to circle a few times then plop into what amounted to a pile before falling, rather surprisingly, to sleep.

      “How’s the leg, love?”

      “I believe I am crippled.”

Greg and Mrs. Hudson shared a look which spoke loudly as to the fact that drama was a family trait amongst the Holmes clan.

      “Poor dear.  Well, I’ll pull out the biscuits and make more tea.  That should help to uncripple you.  Then, we’ll get started on that amulet.  Poor Sherlock… his tiny doggy paws won’t be much use helping me, but that’s what he gets for getting up my nose on the wrong night.”

Which pleased the aching Mycroft to no end.  Scurrilous curs… hopefully, the spell lingered just long enough for the miscreants to be shamed in front of their respective parents and receive their well-deserved chastisement.  Although… given the maternal segments of the parental pairs, treats, toys and a comfortable basket and blanket were the more likely fate.  This night simply was awash with lovely surprises…

__________

With one amulet in his pocket and two sleeping puppies on his lap, the firestarter grinned widely at his spouse as they rode in the carriage back towards home.

      “Well, this has been a night, hasn’t it?”

Mycroft cast a look at his destroyed trouser leg and pursed his lips in annoyance.

      “If one has an ethical issue with trousers, then yes.”

      “Oh, it’s not that bad.  I could actually mend that with a needle and a bit of thread.  But, look!  Aren’t they cute?  And quiet!  You should appreciate that part, at least.”

The pups had simply whimpered piteously when roused from their space by the fire and it was left to Greg to cradle them out of the shop, while Mycroft ported their sizeable sacks of experiment supplies.

      “That aspect is certainly a pleasing one.  For how long did Mrs. Hudson say the spell will last?”

      “Until tomorrow… today… at sundown, which I good because it means these two won’t be able to come with us to the magistrate’s hall.”

      “Ah, yes.  I am not comfortable with their possible attendance, either.  Both are sufficiently volatile that repeated outbursts are a certainty and… I do not wish them to hear the words that might be levied against you.  I do not want _your_ ears to be insulted by them, but, for that, we have no choice.  The children should not have to suffer so, though, and I _do_ believe they would suffer.  They both care for you deeply.”

Lestrade petted the dark-furred and golden-furred puppies and giggled as they rolled slightly so he had better access to their fat bellies.

      “Look at that…”

      “A true sign of trust or so I’ve been told.”

      “They’re good lads.  And I’ll be there for them whenever I possibly can.  I just… I just hope that’s going to be for a long time.”

Mycroft reached over and patted his husband’s knee, both to offer comfort and to distract his lover away from sinking into a reverie, which would certainly not be of a joyful nature.

      “None of that, my dear.  You shall have as long as you like with Sherlock and John.  At this juncture, the trial is but a formality.  We have proof of your innocence and it shall simply be a matter of having that proof heard.  In fact, I would not be at all surprised if we saw the end of your troubles during this initial session.  Though you have many ready to sing your praises, they shall not be necessary given our information and it could very well be that we are but one rest away from seeing you a free man.”

      “Do you really think that?”

      “I do, actually.  There is nothing to be gained by prolonging your trial and I believe the magistrates will look favorably upon ending this sooner than later.  If there was additional information to be gleaned or actions to set in motion against Magnussen that an extended trial would facilitate, then it might be wise, however, none of that is a consideration.”

Lestrade gave his pups a warm tummy rub and thought about Mycroft’s words.  This could all be over by the next time he saw midnight.  He could be free.  Really and truly free.  It was… it was almost impossible to imagine.

      “I hope you’re right.  That would be… well, it would be indescribable, so I won’t even try.”

      “It is needless for you to do so, for I share your inexpressible glee at the thought.”

And that was the absolute truth, in Mycroft’s mind.  They were so near the resolution of their troubles that he could scarcely remain calm in his seat.  His life had begun anew when he met his husband and it was poised to blossom like the largest and most fragrant flower the moment his Gregory was declared a free man.  An _innocent_ man.   Of course, then could begin the glorious process of seeing Magnussen pay for his crimes and affronts.  Gregory did not need to know the extent to which payment would be exacted, save that it would be proper for the degree of harm he had suffered at Magnussen’s hands.  His dear love was not possessed of a vengeful spirit and might object to the nature of the chastisement and they certainly did not need to begin the rest of their lives together with an argument.  That should be saved for which jam would be served with the morning toast…

__________

Mycroft could scarcely count the seconds between presentation of the puppies to their respective mothers and the start of the anticipated cooing, and it gave him great comfort that each boy would be clasped to a maternal bosom for the duration of their transformation and treated like the tiniest of babies.  Sherlock and John would hate that.

      “Well, love… how about a little stroll in the garden?  It’s going to be an early night for you tomorrow and you should probably get some extra rest to make up for it, but a little stroll to relax might be nice beforehand.”

      “A stroll sounds quite delightful.  And do not worry that my night shall begin too early, as your trial begins only two hours before sunset.  We vampires become easier to rouse, also, the closer we are to waking, so it shall not be overly difficult to bring me awake, unlike your last occasion to do so.”

      “That’s good to hear!  Actually, I’d sort of forgotten about that, but I’d have remembered fast enough when I had to try and get you out of bed.”

      “Shall you… it is ridiculous for me to ask if you shall find any sleep today?”

      “It is very ridiculous for you to ask, but I appreciate the concern.  I won’t get any sleep and probably won’t even try… but, hey!  Might be my only sleepless day for a very long time, right?”

His poor husband.  Mycroft knew that if he were in Lestrade’s position he would, also, not see a wink of sleep, but it still pained him to know his lover would be awake and without someone to offer much-needed reassurance, for his useless vampire carcass would be doing its best impression of a corpse.

      “Correct.  Now, shall we begin our stroll?  Father and mother shall entertain our guest and see he is prepared for trial and we might use these last hours to simply relax and conserve our energies.”

Lestrade smiled and adored that his husband was bound and determined that he spend as little time as possible in their witness’s presence.  Mycroft was doing his best, his very best, to make this as easy for him as possible.  He couldn’t ask for a more devoted spouse, but it would probably be a battle through the years to get Mycroft to actually let him know what was going on in their lives because Mycroft _would_ try and hide any unpleasantness.  But, that was a ludicrously small concern in the grand scheme of things and his Mycroft was so adorable and sexy when he was caught out hiding something that it actually might put a spot of fun in their nights when the truth came out…

__________

As predicted, Lestrade didn’t see a bit of sleep, contenting himself with lying in bed next to Mycroft and reading or taking a daytime stroll around the gardens.  By the agreed-upon time to wake his husband, the firestarter was ecstatic that it only took some forceful shaking and yelling in Mycroft’s ear to get the vampire stirring.  A bit of cool water spritzed in his face and flicks to the ear were the final touches to getting Mycroft to open his eyes and let loose a very wide yawn.

      “There’s my vampire.  Looking lovely and sleepy, like the sexiest man on Earth.”

      “You flatter me, my dear.  But, I happily accept the compliment.  What… how soon is it until our departure?”

      “Mrs. Hudson’s here already and having a bit of breakfast with your mum, who had her maid wake her very early, I think, so she and Mrs. Hudson could play with Sherlock before he becomes his surly little vampire self again.  Your dad’s just awake and I think it’ll be a quick bite after getting dressed before we’re off.”

      “Ah… so you left me to sleep as long as possible.”

      “Making sure my husband gets his much-needed sleep is part of my job.”

Lestrade leaned over and gave his spouse a long and tender kiss, keeping the heat at a simmer because they did not have time for anything more… vigorous… this evening.  As it was, his muscles were still a little stiff from last night’s pre-bedtime activities.  His Mycroft had made very certain he knew how much he was loved and _he’d_ made sure his Mycroft got a good long drink to keep him fit and healthy for today’s battle.  Of course, Mycroft’s good long drink was actually several, spread over an hour’s time that simply served to make said pre-bedtime activities even sexier.

      “And you discharge your duties magnificently.  I take it you are already prepared for leaving?”

      “Washed, dressed and fed.  Though, I have a suspicion I’ll need a little something else in my stomach because it’s already starting to churn a bit.”

Mycroft sat up in bed and ran a hand up his hand up Lestrade’s arm.

      “Be of good spirits, Gregory.  This evening sees us freeing you from the suspicions and slander that have plagued you for so many years.  However, having a good base to one’s stomach is a prudent way to begin any endeavor.  And this breakfast finds us without Sherlock, so you have no worry of any additional churning of your insides because of his foolishness.”

      “He had a wee on your dad.  I think he was smiling when he did it, too.”

Mycroft tried to appear annoyed, but it quickly dissolved into a round of giggles for which Lestrade happily joined in.

      “Poor Father, no matter his form, Sherlock does find a way to bring surprises to Father’s day.”

      “Poor Sherlock, you mean, because he got set in that big chest in your dad’s study for a bit of time to reflect on his behavior.  Your dad did keep the lid up, though, so Sherlock could stand on tiptoe and peer out to watch your dad eat a big plate of breakfast, including those sausages Sherlock’s particularly keen on.  The whimpering nearly broke my heart.”

      “And, of course, you did not sneak to the criminal any reward for his villainous behavior.”

      “No.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Just one bite!  The smallest of tiny bites.”

      “Gregory Lestrade-Holmes!”

      “He’s so cute!  Crying and whimpering like the saddest pup you’ve ever heard!  With those big, pleading eyes…”

      “If we are ever to bring offspring into our household, I see now your ability for instructing discipline and self-restraint amounts to nil.”

      “He even did that little Baroo! thing puppies do when they’re really upset about something!”

      “Or know well how one member of their family will melt like a pat of butter on a warm scone and provide whatever it is they desire.”

      “I’m not a very stern dad, am I?”

      “In the matter of puppies, no.  In the matter of young boys, I, truthfully, find that you balance most appropriately a firm hand and an indulgent manner.  Fortunately, Sherlock’s life as a member of your weak-point species will be short-lived or he would own our new home outright and it would be us living in the cavernous cellar.”

      “I’d build him a little house all for his own so he could root around our garden all day, chasing rabbits and investigating smells.”

Mycroft laughed at Lestrade’s bright, satisfied smile and gave him a kiss on his cheek.  His husband was a prince among men but if they were ever invaded by a horde of puppies or other baby animal, dear Gregory would be their abject slave, being completely unable to give the invaders even a wagged finger as a scolding.

      “We shall keep that in mind for our future household.  I am certain both Sherlock and John will warrant another day as a member of the canine species at some point and Mrs. Hudson will be more than happy to enact their well-deserved fate.”

      “That’ll be my first project!  And I’ll make sure it’s got room for two pups so Sherlock and John can bunk together and share their sad fate.  I suppose, though… time to get started?  On our night, I mean, not my dog houses.”

The vampire smiled comfortingly and nodded, slinging his legs over the side of the bed and stretching to rid himself further of the call of his pillow.  Which was quite loud, but there were far more important things to tend to.  Like kissing his husband.

      “Oh, that was nice.  My Mycroft gives the nicest of kisses.”

      “And I shall bestow them in abundance.  Especially if you restrain yourself from feeding my breakfast to Sherlock.”

      “You sound like you don’t trust me.”

      “That is because I do not.”

      “Yeah, can’t blame you.  I’ll make sure to sit out of arm’s reach of your plate so I can’t snatch anything to pass along to our furry Sherlock.  My will is weak.”

      “Yet your body is strong and I have full intention of making use of that strength when we return from our ordeal.”

      “You do, do you?”

      “Most certainly.”

      “Then let’s get this started.  The sooner we’re back and I’m showing you a good time, the happier I’ll be.”

A sentiment Mycroft fully shared and it was the final push to get him moving towards finding clothes, grooming himself and making himself present at the breakfast table.  Hopefully, eyes had been kept on his brother and there were _some_ sausages left for his plate…

__________

      “Not a single one?”

      “We put that little terror on a chair so he could nap, but he hopped on the table when nobody was watching.  Look at him… so stuffed he can’t even move.”

Sherlock lay on the family dining table and, either from stomach pain or the witch’s rebuke, whined softly.  Actually he could have been whining _loudly_ , for all Mycroft knew, because it was highly likely the pup’s overly-expanded middle was blocking a great deal of the sound.

      “Just splendid.  Once again, brother, you do yourself dishonor with your inappropriate behaviors.”

The whining was now a quiet growl that scared Mycroft not a whit, since his brother could not move, let alone dart towards him to deliver the intended bite.

      “Isn’t he adorable?”

If it wasn’t for the higher pitch of the voice, Mycroft would have been certain that was his dog-addled husband speaking.

      “No, Mummy, he is not.  And why is he still on the table and not locked away somewhere so he might see some punishment for his misbehavior?”

      “Well, because he is adorable and because you weren’t here yet to take him outside for a walk.”

      “Walk?  Firstly, his legs cannot move, secondly, with the size of his belly I am uncertain said legs could touch the ground if he even tried and, thirdly, why am I considered the one to exercise my brother?”

      “Not exercise, Mycroft.  You know…”

      “No, Mummy, I do not.”

      “Sherlock needs a little _walkie_.”

      “Then Sherlock can waddle across the grounds himself.”

      “Yes, but Sherlock can’t pick up the… outcome… of his little walk from my lawn, now can he?”

Mycroft’s face was so awash with confusion that Lestrade decided it was time for a little charity.  And pity.

      “I’ll take him.  Love, you have your breakfast and we’ll only be a moment.  Let’s go, Sherlock, you fat little thing.  Going to turn into a sausage if you keep eating like that.”

Lestrade picked up the plump puppy from the table and carried him out of the dining room, knowing that once they got outside and nature took its course, Sherlock’s mortification was going to be worth the bother he was going to have to go through to clean things up.  He would remind the small vampire of this for _years_ …

      “Good heavens, Mummy… have neither you nor Gregory any ability to properly discipline any living creature?”

      “Oh, hush, Mycroft.  It’s not every day we have a precious little puppy in the house.  Even if it is Sherlock.  Now, there is plenty still left for you to have a good meal and then we shall depart.  Your father would like to arrive a tad early to give us time to ‘saturate’ the magistrate’s hall with our presence.  He’s such a dramatic man when he chooses to be.”

      “Yes, it is one of his most unseemly traits…”

Mycroft missed the look exchanged between his mother and Mrs. Hudson and it was, likely, for everyone’s betterment that he did.

      “… and Mr. Stone?  He is prepared?”

      “Everything is on schedule and going according to plan, son.  Now, eat.  Martha and I have our own matters to tend to.”

      “Oh?  Knitting Sherlock a blanket?”

      “Mycroft, if you’re truly jealous of your brother, I’ll happily make _you_ a puppy, too.  You can sit on my lap during the trial and I’m sure the magistrates will give Greg a break now and then to take you for your own little  walkies, so you don’t have to get backed up from holding it all in.”

As the women snickered, the light dawned in Mycroft’s brain, it was eclipsed by the horror of the image and he set about completely ignoring anyone in the room who was not him.  Fortunately, after a few minutes, there wasn’t anyone in the room remaining.  What utter lunacy.  On this most important day, his family descends into _lunacy_.  Perhaps, though, it was a good thing.   A thing to bring a smile to his face.   A thing to take his love’s mind off of his troubles.  A thing to…

      “Sherlock pooped like a champion!  See this belly!  Only half the size as before!”

Yes, his husband’s mind was certainly distracted at the moment and a gift horse was not something to look in the mouth.  Even one as dastardly as Sherlock…

__________

Mycroft had traveled before on trade caravans where there was significant danger of being ambushed and attacked by all manner of foul fiend, however, this small caravan into the village had him fantastically nervous and it was taking all of his willpower to hide that fact from his husband.  Gregory’s own nerves had been soothed by the silliness of their evening, but now they were returning and if he didn’t have a hand firmly on his spouse’s shoulders, the possibility of the firestarter vaulting out of his seat in the carriage to run the rest of the way to court was notably high.

      “How fare you, my dear?”

      “You already know.  You’ve had me clamped to my seat since we reached the halfway point.”

Apparently, nerves did not equate to unawareness.

      “True, however, a report from your own lips would assure me.”

      “Sorry.  I’m just a little nervous.  And I’m fine, I really am.  Just ready to get this started.  No matter what happens, I just want to see this started.”

      “Only a short while longer, Gregory.  The village is just beyond those trees.  It has been a successful trip, would you admit?  The weather is pleasant and the smell of summer is in the air.”

      “And you haven’t spied any thugs lying in wait to do us a mischief.”

      “There is that, yes.”

      “You could handle them.  I have full faith that if my Mycroft caught wind of anyone trying to hurt any of his family, that person wouldn’t be alive long enough to plead for his life.”

The vampire smiled proudly and pledged himself to that truth now and forever.

      “I would certainly do my best.  Ah!  There we are, my dear.  Look up ahead and see our destination waiting patiently for us.  And I see no ominous cloud looming over the landscape or a mass of citizens with torches and sharpened farm implements.”

      “Would those be for me or you?”

      “Hmmm… it _is_ somewhat a vexing issue, however, since I have not raised any rents of late, nor been caught seducing any farmer’s sons into my vile clutches, I believe I am safe for the moment.”

      “That heavens for that!  The farmers will already be up in arms if Sherlock gets out of your house and goes digging up their vegetables and chasing their chickens.”

      “And I would not believe it beyond his capabilities to find his way to the nearest property to commit such acts, either.  But, with such a short duration left of his penance, I believe we are free from such worries.  Now, here we are.  Arrived safe and sound, with no unpleasantness to spoil our enjoyment of the moment.  Come, my dear.  Let us join the rest and prepare ourselves for the coming… I was going to say storm, but I shall say drizzle, instead.  It is, I believe, a far more fitting term.”

Lestrade mentally crossed his fingers that his vampire was right.  Oddly, he didn’t feel like the end of his world was staring him in the face.  With the progress they’d made, he could almost, _almost_ , see some light peeking through the storm clouds.  Of course… just as the thought enters his mind…

      “Mycroft, look.  We’re not the first ones here.”

Mycroft hissed audibly at the sight of Magnussen standing in the doorway of the magistrate’s hall.

      “Pay him no mind, my beloved.  All he has to hurl at you is words and they are as empty as my breakfast plate after Sherlock laid waste to the sausages.”

      “Just as long as I don’t have to take Magnussen walkies, I’ll consider the day a victory no matter what else happens!”

Mycroft barked out a laugh, which visibly confused their nemesis as the vampire and his firestarter disembarked their carriage and made their way to the one carrying the rest of their party.  This was their time to show Charles that his scheming and villainous ways would not break their family.  If anyone snapped, it would be Charles.  And what would snap would be his spine, though that particular event would not occur until there were no other eyes to watch it happen…

__________

      “SHERLOCK!”

      “JOHN!”

The elf raced from the door of Sherlock’s lab to the work bench and both boys clasped hands in delight that the other had returned unscathed from the kingdom of the canines.

      “That was… well, I can’t say it was terrible, because it was sort of fun, but… I played chase the stick with my dad!  I chased a stick, Sherlock.  And I liked it.  I’ve never been so embarrassed!”

      “You are fortunate that is the only humiliation on your record.  I suffered far worse, though, I must admit the effects of young canines on motherly figures is one I was gratified to study.  I am contemplating recreating the spell for the occasions where I might need to gain favors from elderly, maternal types.”

      “Yeah, that’s true.  My mum let me sleep on her lap and eat all I wanted.  I got to eat three pieces of seed cake and I usually only get one!  I wouldn’t mind being a dog again if it means I get unlimited cake.”

      “That is truly a benefit of consequence.”

      “It is.  Though… did they leave yet?  I sort of wonder if Mrs. Hudson did that so we couldn’t go with Greg to his trial.”

Something Sherlock had been contemplating, as well.

      “Yes, in fact, the proceedings are surely underway at this point.”

      “We’re not going to stay here while that happens, are we?”

      “Of course not!  I was… I presumed that if you arrived and I had already departed, I would have to suffer your bothersome complaints for eternity so I waited that I might spare my sanity your feeble corrosive attempts.”

      “That’s a lot of words to say you waited for me so we could go together.”

      “If that is your opinion, then do feel free to cling to it gladly.”

      “I will!  Are we flying?”

      “I think that is the most efficient method of transport.”

      “Ok.  Hold on…”

John shrank to his tiniest size while Sherlock transformed into his bat presentation so John could crawl up onto his back.  With his passenger secure, the small bat set aloft, flying at his best speed towards the village.  His family was beastly for leaving him and John behind as if they were infants.  They had as much stake in the events as did anyone and his observational skills and analytical abilities could be crucial for seeing Lestrade proclaimed innocent.  There would be words on this subject at a later time. In fact, he had already begun scripting his protest in the most unflinching terms and Mycroft would listen every word or things would not go well for him.  Consuming his brother’s sausages was the very least of the havoc he could wreak when properly provoked and Mycroft was so very good at provoking…

__________

The small bat and elf landed on the windowsill of the magistrate’s hall and took in their surroundings.  There were so many people!  Every seat was taken and people were even standing along the walls.  There was a small table near the magistrates bench and Greg was sitting at it, along with the chief constable, with the rest of the family in chairs behind him.

      “There’s the snake.”

Sherlock looked around and found Magnussen sitting on the other side of the room from his family and did _not_ like the look on the man’s face.  Actually, he simply didn’t like  Magnussen’s face for any reason, but it looked especially wrong now. Smug, decidedly undefeated… the man should have _some_ precognitive awareness that his doom was at hand!  Blackguard…

      “I see him, though, I wish my eyes had been spared the insult.”

      “He’s an ugly bastard, that’s for sure.  Think we should find a seat?”

      “I don’t think there are any to have.  Can you… hold your size?”

      “Not for much longer.  Hop down onto the ground.”

Sherlock fluttered to the ground for John to dismount, then the elf grew to full-size and looked around, finally finding a barrel that was tall enough for him to stand on and see through the window.

      “Here.  We can watch this way.”

The barrel was pushed into place and the two boys climbed on top, looking over the heads of the crowd and settling in for however long it would be until their witness was called to give his testimony.  Luckily for them, that time was not long in coming…

      “Very good… we have now heard the charges and introductory statements from both sides of the issue, as well as seen presented the original arrest warrant and read into evidence the letter we received from our brethren magistrates as to the reasons this particular warrant was issued.  It is now time to begin hearing testimony from any who wish to speak on the matter, either for or against Mr. Lestrade.”

Sherlock and John gasped as Magnussen began to unfurl his long body from his seat, but he was beat to the punch by Sherlock’s father, who leapt up as if a snake had bitten his bottom.

      “I would be honored to be the first voice to speak for young Gregory, though, as you are certainly aware of his marriage to my son, which, alone, speaks volumes as to my conviction in his innocence.  However, there is a voice I believe should be heard at the onset so that we might completely lay to rest any further suspicion of my son-in-law’s guilt.”

The magistrates shared a puzzled look, but nodded and the head magistrate cleared his voice before speaking.

      “Very well.  Please bring them forward.”

Mycroft’s father smiled widely and made certain to lock eyes with Magnussen for the briefest of moments as he motioned William Stone to come forward and stand with him next to Lestrade.

      “Your name, young man?”

Stone faced the magistrates and looked back once at Magnussen, something Mycroft followed with his own gaze, not liking the light that seemed to be blooming in their opponent’s eyes.

      “William Stone, sir.”

      “And, Mr. Stone, who are you and what is it you have to say?”

Mycroft saw their witness’s nervousness surge and prepared himself to apply whatever force it would take to encourage the man to testify.

      “I… I used to work for Greg’s parents, along with my brother.  He…”

Another look back over the shoulder and Mycroft saw the connection click firmly in Magnussen’s mind, as well as the undoubted trajectory of their witness’s testimony.

      “Yes, Mr. Stone?”

      “My brother, James… he… he was the one who set the fire that killed Greg’s family.”

The magistrate’s hall erupted in noise and it took several minutes of shouting to bring the crowd back under control.  All the while, Mycroft watched Magnussen and, though the man took no action, the vampire could see the wheels turning in his mind and felt no small degree of worry about the way Magnussen was twitching his fingers and rubbing his hands together.  That combined with the glances he kept stealing upwards towards the small gallery above the magistrates heads made Mycroft wonder if the man was actually praying.  The only ones likely to answer that prayer were the most repulsive of demons and they certainly did not need to deal with that tonight!

      “We WILL have silence!  This is not a harvest celebration, for pity’s sake!  Mr. Stone… it is your sworn testimony that your brother committed the crime for which Mr. Lestrade has been accused?”

      “It… it is, sir.”

      “And, you know this how?”

      “Because James told me.  I asked him, quite plainly and clearly, and he… he said yes.”

Again the uproar was tremendous and Greg finally felt air fill his lungs again.  It had been said.  Out in the open, it had been said and there was no taking that back.  Looking around, he found two pairs of eyes gazing from above the windowsill at the back of the hall and felt no surprise the little buggers had made their way here, but, at least, they were here for the good part.  Looking for his husband to point out the snoops, Lestrade frowned at the expression on Mycroft’s face and followed his eyes towards Magnussen who was looking more agitated that he’d ever seen the arrogantly-placid man.  And what was wrong with his hands?

      “SILENCE!  We will have the lot of you removed if you can’t keep quiet and I’m serious about that!  Mr. Stone… did your brother… did he give you any reason why he would commit such an atrocious crime?”

Stone looked again over his shoulder at Magnussen and paled at the glint in the eyes that were staring back at him.  But he couldn’t turn aside, now.  The die had been cast and, if everyone knew that James had been pressured, that he’d been seduced, really, by that evil bastard, they might not think so poorly of him.

      “He… he did.”

Something in the back of Mycroft’s mind began to tingle and he found himself readying for… he knew not what.  Lestrade saw the unrest in his husband and fixed his eyes on Magnussen, which, from his angle painted a unsettling picture.  This time, following Magnussen’s eyes, Lestrade looked up at the small gallery and only caught the slightest gleam of candlelight off of metal before he was out of his seat and pushing aside his former friend, taking in his chest the crossbow bolt that had been meant for their witness.

      “GREGORY!”

Mycroft was at his husband’s side in a heartbeat, followed quickly by his father and Mrs. Hudson.

      “Oh no… son, can you hear me?”

      “Gregory, speak to me, my love.”

Mycroft’s mind barely registered the furor around him that was threatening to bring the hall down around their ears.  All of his attention was for the man lying on the floor, gasping for air through the blood that was beginning to fill his mouth.

      “Mrs. Hudson… you must do something!”

The witch forced back her own emotions and looked over Greg with an eye that had more practice with violence-inspired wounds than she would like to remember.

      “I… I don’t know what I can do, lad.  I might be able to keep him alive, but… that bolt… it’s done a lot of damage.  I think it might have hit his backbone, up high, too, but I don’t want to roll him to see for certain.  I can’t say, even if I _can_ keep him alive, what he’ll be like once we get the bolt out.  There’s a good chance… the biggest chance, really, that he won’t be… I don’t think he’d be happy with what his life would be.”

      “No…”

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft.  I’m so, so sorry, but… it’s not up to me now, I think, it’s up to you.  And you have to decide quickly because he’s not got more than a few minutes left.”

Mycroft looked into the witch’s eyes and then into his father’s and then into his husband’s, though those were glassy and seeing very little anymore of the living world.

      “Son…”

      “Leave us alone, Father.  Get everyone out of here and leave us alone.”

Not that he knew it, but the family patriarch made very quick work of clearing the hall, though there weren't actually that many people were left inside, as most had fled in the aftermath, a large number, Mycroft would learn later, to chase the assassin and Magnussen, who they had doubt brought the fiend into their midst.

      “Gregory… can you hear me?”

Mycroft swallowed heavily when he received no response and granted himself just a moment to think.  This was not fair!  It was not right and it was not fair and he should call Mrs. Hudson back and tell her to do what she needed to do so that he did not have to make this decision.  But, that wasn’t an option and he knew it.  _He_ had to decide.  He had to take charge and make the choice because he owed it to his Gregory to do more than let him die because of _his_ cowardice.  He could decide to let him die out of kindness.  Let him pass quietly away to a world where he would never again have to worry about hurting anyone or live a life that was… unacceptably compromised.  Or… there were two other choices.  He just had to pick one of the three… and his husband would be the one to live... or not... with his choice...


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of our tale. It has been a fantastic ride and I sincerely appreciate all of those who experienced it with me. Your kind words and support really made writing this a pleasure and I hope that the finale makes the trip worthwhile...

      “GREG!”

John’s shout barely dented Sherlock’s awareness as he stared at the scene he still couldn’t believe.  The fool!  The stupid, great-hearted fool!  He could be well now.  Well and whole and free…

      “Sherlock!  Come on!  We have to help Greg!”

The vampire sharply shook his head and grabbed John as he started to leap off the barrel.

      “No… there is nothing we can do for Lestrade.  Mycroft… it is Mycroft’s decision now and it is not for us to interfere.”

Sherlock had never wished to be an infant, but he wished that right now with all his heart, so he wouldn’t have an idea of what was going through his brother’s mind and what it meant for the human who had become such an important part of their family.  If Lestrade survived, he… there would be words about ridiculous altruistic behavior!  Never again… _never_ again could this sort of thing happen.  His heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

      “Mycroft’s decision?  Oh… oh no.”

      “We cannot help here, but… did you see the direction in which Magnussen ran?”

      “No… my eyes were on Greg.  But… I _did_ see where the assassin went.  North, towards the woods by that big field where they just took in the hay.”

      “Then that is where we shall go.  Can you…”

      “Don’t even ask.”

John shrank down as small as he could and waited for Sherlock to turn to bat form to climb onto the vampire’s back.

      “I don’t care how hard it is, I’ll stay this size as long as takes to find that assassin and put a knife through his heart.”

      “Do you have a knife?”

      “Just fly, Teeny Fangs, and leave the details to me.”

__________

      “Is he…”

      “No, my love, not yet.  But he is not long for this world.”

Mycroft’s father took his own spouse in his arms and held her tightly.

      “Did Mycroft say…”

      “No.  He gave no indication of what he will do, but he must act quickly.  I simply wish… I despise that he must shoulder this alone.”

      “He will do the right thing.  Our son will _not_ fail his husband.  He simply will not.  And we shall not fail our son.”

Mycroft’s father drew back slightly and looked into his wife’s eyes, which were nearly blazing with emotion.

      “I suspect you are thinking exactly what I am thinking, my wife.”

      “Charles headed east towards the next village.”

      “Which is a long way away.”

      “Through heavy woods.”

      “With many places to hide a corpse.”

      “Shall we race?”

      “I believe your powers for mindreading are growing.”

      “I try my best.”

__________

Mrs. Hudson stood outside the magistrate’s hall, focusing all her concentration on the spell she was laying, hopefully, to keep Lestrade alive just a minute or two longer to let Mycroft do what he was going to do.  The poor boy… the poor _boys_!  Mycroft was one she’d never thought would have much in this world, in terms of love and affection, and he’d found the most caring, decent man one could hope for.  And Greg… his first real chance at happiness ends in blood and pain.  Well, she couldn’t do more than give him a precious few moments, but that should be enough.  Her Mycroft wouldn’t let her down, wouldn’t let his husband down… that’s not what he was made of and he would _not_ let his Greg go without doing his best to keep hold of him and tightly at that.  Now… he just had to hurry and make up his mind about what to do because… Greg was fading fast…

__________

Mycroft wiped away the tears that were making it impossible to see and hated himself for the weakness.  He could not spare a single mote of energy, of concern or attention for himself.  All of it had to be for his husband, for he was his Gregory’s only hope.

Not that hope was something that had ever done his spouse any good.  How could… how could the stars be so unfair that they saw fit to lay such burdens and tortures upon a soul as good as Gregory’s?  He had done nothing to warrant any of the hardships he had suffered!  From his birth he had been fated for a hellacious life and he had done nothing but try to be a person to whom all other should aspire to emulate!   He should not be hurt and bloody and leaving…

And that might be what his love would want.  Peace.  Endless and eternal peace.  Free from worry and fear and whatever horrors the world had lying in wait for him.  He had struggled for so long, suffered so much… a quiet passing could be the kindest option.  The most compassionate and loving option.  _He_ would never heal from the loss, but that was immaterial.  His husband would be at rest and that was not a terrible thought…

But it was a cowardly choice, in honesty, and his Gregory deserved bravery.  He had demonstrated true courage in saving another and could not be rewarded with less.  His love had never chosen to hide away from life, despite the claws it was eager to sink into his flesh and would not choose to do so now.  The weariness, the frustrations and pains… he would take them on gladly to continue on in life, so that choice was not the proper one.

Then there was the option of guaranteed life.  Guaranteed death was the cowardly choice, but was its opposite?  It would take the most minor of actions and his husband _would_ live.  Of his injuries there would be only the scantest of evidence remaining and he would live healthy for so, so many years.  They would be together for a long as _he_ drew breath and that would span centuries of time.  His husband would be well and comfortable and free to pursue whatever interests took his fancy.  They would be _together_ and he would do everything in his power to demonstrate to his spouse, every single day, the depth of his love and how greatly he respected and admired the man who had stolen his heart.

Not that _together_ was, in itself, anything of a choice.  With the smallest infiltration of his blood in Gregory’s body, and no further action, his husband would never again be able to do without.  The togetherness would not be of choice, but of necessity.  It would not be solely out of love and devotion, but because of survival.  Their life would be long and contented, but it would also be tainted.  His beloved would have everything in the world he wanted except the one thing he most desired – freedom.  Could a life honestly given in love, _spent_ in love be enough when, ultimately, there was no other life you could possibly live?

No.  For his Gregory, it would not be enough.  Though he knew, without a single doubt, his husband loved him with his whole heart, the loss of freedom, of _control_ over the most basic, fundamental thing a person could have would forever mar their marriage.  They would be happy, they would live a fulfilling life, but it would never reach the heights it could if his Gregory knew that each day they were together was a day _both_ chose that path and the hours until they again saw their bed were a celebration of that choice.

That left one option.  And it was really not a option for he had known from the beginning this was the right path to take.  He had just hoped something would happen to change his mind…

Mycroft made quick work of tearing Lestrade’s shirt from his body and took one, final steadying breath before pulling out the bolt and shoving a hand over the wound to stem the flow of blood that began to flow out faster from his spouse’s body.   He had told his Gregory that he would not reveal all of his secrets at once and now it was time to reveal the last he’d held back, mostly because… it was not a pretty thing.  Feeling the characteristic tingle of transformation, Mycroft allowed his free hand to change into another of his mastered forms, something that was not inappropriately called monster-like.  Elongated fingers that were nearly skeletal in nature, tipped with claws of razor sharpness.  It was a terrifying form and, some said, the original form of his race before some human blood entered their line.  Regardless, it was the form he needed now, at least partially, for those claws were the tools of tradition to carve deeply into his love’s chest the ritualistic symbols to begin the rite.  He could only be thankful that his husband as not awake to endure this new and terrible torture.  Not all were so fortunate…

Taking great care that every stroke of his hand was absolutely precise and wiping away the new blood seeping from his work so he could avoid any mistakes, the vampire covered Lestrade’s right pectoral with ancient symbols then dropped his fangs and ran his wrist across them to start his own blood flowing.

      “Now, Gregory, I must ask a thing of you and I know you shall not deny me.  One small sip, my dear.  One tiny, tiny sip is all I ask.”

Pressing his wrist to Lestrade’s mouth, Mycroft smeared blood on his husband’s lips and left it there to drip blood onto his tongue, hoping desperately that something would happen.  Which it didn’t.  That was alright, though… there was another option.  The fact it was brutal was really a minor concern at this point.  And there was far more brutality to come… 

Making certain his fingers were well coated with his own blood, Mycroft shoved them hard into Lestrade’s open wound and left them there while his blood infiltrated his lover’s flesh.  In truth, only a small amount was needed, but the vampire resolved to leave nothing to chance as chance had not been their friend in any of this.

Certain that the deed was done, Mycroft allowed himself one brief moment to compose himself, then hauled Lestrade’s body off of the ground and, sitting next to him so he could hold his spouse, the vampire whispered a quiet ‘I am sorry, Gregory’ and tore into his throat with his fangs.  There was no tenderness here, no gentle touches or tendrils of arousal.  That was not the point.  The point was bestial, cruel and savage.  The point was to drink and continue to drink, far beyond satiation, far beyond satisfaction until he could feel his love’s heart slow, slow further and, finally, stop.  This was the true horror, the nightmare that forever haunted and never eased… if your lover died, it was by your hand.  He had murdered his husband and there really was no other way it could be described.  He could have given life and, instead, stole away the last spark of it that beat in his Gregory’s chest.  Now, he could only hope and pray that spark flared again…

Lifting Lestrade’s lifeless body and cradling it tenderly, Mycroft walked out of the magistrate’s hall, unmindful of the stares and gasps from those who had remained in the aftermath of the assassination attempt and, climbing into their coach, he barked orders at the driver who sped away for home as quickly as the horses could run.  It was time for his love to divest himself of these tattered garments, have a welcome, cleansing bath and the chance to lay quietly so his body could rest.  It needed a rest after all of this nonsense.  With a good sleep to its credit, it would surely make the proper decision and return his Gregory to him.  It would be terribly uncordial of it not to, and that was simply not his lover’s way…

__________

The witch watched from around the corner of the building as Mycroft left for home and let out deep, sigh.  Her boy had done well and, now, he deserved his time alone.  The rest of them could manage things and from what she’d seen of the flurry of bats a few minutes ago, one with a tiny passenger, the whole family was already set on that task.  The ones most likely to need a little help just headed north and that was the direction that assassin ran off to, so, looking around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, Mrs. Hudson said a few quiet words and, seconds later, a crow flew up into the sky after Sherlock and John.  Those two could get into a _lot_ of trouble going after an assassin.  Blood was hell to get out of clothes and she didn’t have any cleaning potion on hand at the moment…

__________

      “Look, Sherlock!”

The small bat looked to the side which his face was being tapped on by the small elf and saw the group of villagers closing in on an old hunter’s shelter.

      “Let’s see if they found him.”

Sherlock nodded and flew down to land on a branch in a nearby tree, allowing John to climb off and grow larger to give his body a rest.

      “Do you think he’s in there?”

      “I do not know.  It seems a foolish place to hide since the size is miniscule and it offers little opportunity for concealment.”

The two boys watched and waited as the villagers crept up to peer in the windows and huffed in frustration as the various heads shook ‘no’ after seeing nobody inside.

      “This was a waste of time.”

      “No, not necessarily.  Let’s wait a minute and see what happens.”

Neither boy would admit to shrieking at the sound of the rather scratchy, though disturbingly familiar, voice coming from the branch above them or the extra squeak seeing the large crow looking down on them, because nothing of the sort happened.

      “M…Mrs. Hudson?”

      “Who were you expecting, John?”

      “Why was I not informed of your transfiguration abilities!”

      “Because you’re evil.”

Sherlock snorted, which was a rather cute sound coming from a bat, in the witch’s opinion.

      “Looks like they’re moving on.”

John and Sherlock turned back towards the crowd and watched the group continue with their search.

      “Do we keep following them?”

      “Hush, John.  Just wait and let’s see if there’s something going on.”

Not that either boy had any clue what that meant, but they decided listening to the witch wasn’t the worst possible idea, and stayed quiet, watching the small cabin, until they both gasped as the door opened, seemingly by itself, stayed open a moment, then closed again.

      “Invisibility spell.  Evil git needed a place to work it.”

      “Then we have him.  John, prepare for violence.”

John grew to normal size and began climbing down from the tree while the witch just sighed and flew down to reach the ground before the elf.

      “Hold on, you two.  We might need him to speak against Magnussen, so let’s just see him held for the constables, shall we?”

Sherlock flew down and transformed into a small scowling vampire, to stand beside his small scowling friend.

      “No.  He deserves the severest of thrashings and John and I will be the ones to deliver it.  If he survives at all, it shall purely be by accident.”

The elf smacked a fist into his palm and began walking towards the cabin, only to find himself frozen in place.

      “That’s not fair!”

      “What’s not fair is putting that miserable thing in his grave if he has some use for us.  Don’t worry, he won’t be going anywhere.”

In the next second, Mrs. Hudson, in human form, was standing in front of the boys and took a moment to speak some words and make some gestures that Sherlock quickly committed to memory.

      “Well, I hope he likes that shack because he’s going to be in there until I let him out.  Now, you two go and find the constables and bring them here.  I’ll keep an eye out for anyone hoping to set the place on fire.”

Which, given the temper of the villagers, was a serious concern.

      “Very well.  But if the law fumbles his well-deserved hanging, John and I shall see the deed done properly.”

Two snarls preceded John shrinking back to his tiniest size and Sherlock, once again, taking bat form so they could summon the authorities.   As the witch watched them go, she wished and not for the first time, that the two weren’t so young and, surprisingly, innocent.  Just a few decades more and she would have let them have a go at the bastard they’d caught and if he wasn’t breathing when it was over… oh well, accidents happen…

__________

The two large, more mature, bats flew through the woods, alert for any sound or movement that might signal they’d found their quarry.  Unfortunately, they had so far been confounded.

      “Thoughts, my wife?”

      “We separate.  We can cover more ground that way.”

Mycroft’s father nodded and veered off, taking a track where the trees were denser and offered more cover for a fugitive.  Though, as he thought about it, Charles wasn’t a young man anymore and, even running for his life, _running_ couldn’t be something he could do for very long.  Stopping to perch on a branch, the elder Holmes thought about the terrain and what it might offer for keeping an exhausted man hidden, at least long enough to catch his breath, if not to wait for midday when he was less likely to be hunted by vengeance-seeking vampires.

Taking to the air again and flying slowly in a large, wide circle, the bat sniffed the air, concentrating deeply on every scent that reached his nose.  There were humans in the area, but none yet smelled of… would Charles feel fear?  Perhaps not.  But he _would_ smell of frustration.  Anger.  Fatigue.  And it was that combination that finally entered the bat’s nostrils, very faint, but from a distinct direction he could track.

Flying fast, the vampire followed the weak scent and felt tremendous relief as it got stronger and stronger still until he was circling an outcropping of rocks, which was just large enough to offer a person cover from those who might be looking for them.

Landing on top of the largest of the rocks, the vampire took his usual form and breathed in the scent of his prey.  Definitely no fear in that aroma.  Not yet, at least.

      “Why, Charles… fancy meeting you here.”

Magnussen startled sharply and whipped his head up at the sound of the voice.

      “Holmes!”

Hopping down, the elder vampire smiled and gave Magnussen a small bow.

      “Did you really think you would get away?  Even if you’d slipped my grasp tonight, neither I nor my son would have rested until we had your head on a pike.”

      “Edward…”

      “First-name basis now, are we?  That’s brave.”

      “He’s not dead.  You wouldn’t be talking to me now if he was dead.”

      “Oh, do you mean Gregory?  In that, you are quite right.  Well, no… I misspeak.  I honestly do not know what is his fate at the moment, for that is for my son to decide, which is why _he_ is not here now.  That’s a spot of luck for you because Mycroft can be a vicious thing when provoked.  Such as, say, when his husband has been nearly murdered in front of his eyes.”

      “Anything you want.  I’ll give you all the money you could…”

      “Got money, but thanks for asking.”

      “I… I have information.  You have no idea the information I have amassed on both your friends and enemies.  All of it is yours if…”

      “Pffft… their sad secrets are as boring as _they_ are.  Besides, I know where you live.  I can get that anyway, once your body is nicely buried and providing the worms a feast.”

      “More!  No one… _no one_ has the talent I have for finding what wants to remain unfound.  Imagine what you could do with the information I could gather.  The information you _want_ gathered.  Your power would be limitless.”

      “Who wants the bother?  I can barely remember to collect the rents from my tenants, let alone rule the world.  No… I think I’m happy the way I am.”

      “Name it!  Name your desire and it is yours!”

      “Really?”

      “Yes!  Anything!”

The head of the Holmes family made a show of thinking and marveled how far from cool and contemptuous Magnussen had come since he arrived here to destroy their lives.  But, oh yes… something had been asked of him.  It would be very impolite not to respond.

      “Oh, alright.  My desire… my greatest desire… is to watch my wife have the first go at your filthy neck.”

And, with no further preamble, the family matriarch stepped out of the shadows and set her fangs into Magnussen’s throat, holding the man in a pitiless grip while her husband admired, not for the first time where his son inherited his vicious streak.  Not wanting to completely left out of the fun, Mycroft’s father joined in and neither vampire stopped until a second person that night lost their heartbeat to vampire fangs.

      “Well, for an odious man, his flavor was not as disgusting as I had imagined.”

      “You were quick to find us, my dear wife.  Were you following me?”

      “Me?  Certainly not.  But… I may have decided that you have more experience with hunting and tracking than do I, what with all the time you’ve frittered away on battlefields and the foreign court intrigue in which you’ve dallied with when bored.  Why waste my energy when I could save it for something far more entertaining.”

      “That still counts as following me, you know.”

      “True, but I prefer my perspective so that is what I shall maintain.”

      “And that is why I love you madly.  Now, shall we take a souvenir to present to Mycroft… and Greg?”

      “An excellent idea.  Why don’t you choose something appropriate and, then, we may begin… making Charles more amenable to whomsoever might desire a free meal?”

      “Hmmmm… or, we could pay a visit to the wolf pair that roam east of the lake and let them know where an easy meal might be found.  I believe there are two new, tiny mouths to feed now and a free dinner isn’t something to turn one’s nose up at when you’ve little ones to mind.”

      “A delightful thought!  Though I have no doubt our Sherlock was the far cuter pup.”

      “A mother’s bias, my love.”

      “You’re just angry because he shredded your dressing gown.”

      “It was my favorite!  Do you know how long it will be until I can have another one!  We don’t have a trade caravan going that direction for months!”

As a warmly-familiar bit of domestic bickering began, each vampire felt a surge of love for their partner and a surge of sadness for their son, who might lose his chance at such a wonderful thing.  They would know the truth soon enough, but in case any of their hopes and their love could make a difference, they sent all they could into the night air.  And braced themselves for the return home in the event the news to be given wasn’t good…

__________

The soft creak of hinges somehow penetrated Mycroft’s consciousness and the young vampire looked up from his vigil to spy two pairs of eyes peeking around the corner of his new bedroom’s door.

      “Ah… boys.”

      “Lestrade?”

The clear concern in his brother’s voice brought a lump into Mycroft’s throat and he could only hope his husband was somehow aware of it.  His Gregory would surely not leave Sherlock and John with nary a goodbye, knowing how gravely worried they were for him and how deeply they cared.  Not his Gregory… not his caring, loving and supportive Gregory…

      “He is… resting.”

John’s eyes began to shine brightly, but dimmed again when he saw the statement didn’t bring the same joy to Sherlock.

      “Sherlock?  What’s wrong?”

      “I… I will explain later, John.”

Mycroft’s heart softened at Sherlock’s attempt to spare him upset and reminded himself that the boys were suffering their own distress at his husband’s fate.

      “It is alright, brother, though I thank you most sincerely for your concern.  As it stands, John, Gregory… is in a place between life and death and onto which side he shall emerge is and cannot be known.”

      “But… but why?”

      “No one knows, I’m afraid, but I can tell you how he came to be in this state.  Gregory… Gregory had no chance of survival on his own and I took the step I believe he would have supported to gain a final chance at life.  My dear husband will either wake and take up life as a vampire or… he shall not wake at all.”

John’s eyes filled quickly with tears and the elf harshly wiped away the traces of his emotions.

      “Greg’s tough.  He’ll fight to live.”

      “I believe you, John.  I believe you with my whole heart and I have faith that Gregory knows of your support and will take strength from your own faith in his tenacity.”

      “Do you think he can hear me?”

No.

      “I have no idea, but awareness goes beyond a single sense, I suspect.”

      “Ok.  Greg… Sherlock and I want you to know…”

John had to stop and swallow down the strangling sensation of his feelings, so Sherlock took over speaking, though his own voice verged on cracking.

      “We captured the assassin.  Mrs. Hudson… Mrs. Hudson lent some meager support, but he is in the hands of the very same constables who held you in their cells.  He shall not escape punishment for what he has done.  John and I have sworn this and we shall not be swayed from our position.”

Mycroft came as close as he had in hours to a smile, but nodded seriously at his brother out of respect for both boy’s very clear conviction.

      “That is exceptional news and I have no doubt Gregory will be in awe, both of your success and your commitment to his welfare and dignity.  I offer you his thanks, in proxy, and my own, as well.”

Sherlock returned his brother’s nod, then slipped his hand into John’s and gently walked him away, as the elf’s emotions were rising again, making it hard for him to see.

      “And you are witness, again, to why you must wake, my dear.  Whatever will the boys do without you?  Whatever will I do _with_ the boys without you?  You must come back to me, Gregory, else my future is one far too terrible too contemplate.  Sherlock and John are terribly vindictive and I fear I shall not escape their wrath if… if you choose to cross to the other side and wait for me there.  My greeting to you will be a stern one, I warn you now.”

Mycroft wiped away his own traces of emotion and sat back in the chair he’d drawn next to their bed, holding Lestrade’s cold hand and running though his mind the story of his and his love’s time together.  It was his favorite of all stories and, as soon as his husband woke, they could add another chapter.  And another, and another, and another…

__________

The parental pair of the house left the two smallest boys alone with their thoughts, after a long conversation and an assurance that word would be sent to John’s parents with their news and that John would be staying with them for a little while.  Next it was the other pair of boys, one of whom was beyond sleep and the other who would be feeling its call very soon, though he would fight against it with all his might.

      “Son?”

Mycroft looked up and the suffering in his eyes broke his parents’ hearts.

      “Gregory is… I…”

Having his mother hug him always fondly irritated the young vampire, however, this time, he welcomed the affection and clung to it tightly.

      “We know, Mycroft, and you did the right thing.  Your father and I truly believe this was the decision your Gregory would have wanted you to make.”

      “I wish I could share your certainty.”

      “Well, you can argue with him about it when he wakes, but until then… you were very courageous, Mycroft.  There was an easier choice and you did the more difficult thing.  For that alone, Gregory would respect your actions.”

It was a lovely thought, but Mycroft would not put a bit of stock in it until he heard the words from his husband’s own lips.  And, if he were never granted the chance, then it would add to the penance he would carry for the rest of his years.

      “Well... let us hope there is truth in that.  But, tell me… what has occurred since…”

Mycroft looked at his husband, who was lying as motionless and unaware as he had been since Mycroft had washed him clean and clad him in fresh nightclothes, so his rest would be a comfortable one.

      “… I have some news from Sherlock and John, but…”

      “Weren’t they marvelous!  Your father and I are so proud.”

The younger vampire glanced at his father and, finally, did break a smile at how puffed up was his sire at his youngest son’s actions.

      “The boys are certainly to be congratulated for their prompt and forceful action.  What… what shall be the assassin’s fate?”

      “That is for the magistrates to decide and… it will depend somewhat on Gregory’s… outcome.  However, I am supremely confident that his life will end sooner than expected by a rope around his neck.  The question, really, is how much spectacle the magistrates will desire before they give their verdict.  This action… it has upset the village greatly and they shall desire their own vengeance, not only for Gregory’s suffering, but for their own sense of… loss of safety is a suitable term, I suppose.  This sort of thing has not happened before in this region and that will have an impact for some time on how the villagers perceive their community.  He _will_ pay, though, son.  Do not believe for a moment that he will not.”

Mycroft nodded slowly and, in truth, had no idea what to say.  The fate of Gregory’s assassin, oddly, held little meaning for him.  Actually, _little_ at the moment held any meaning for him.  It was difficult to even register what was going on around him and the servants had been forced to press a goblet of blood into his hands when he settled his spouse and it appeared he was near to falling into his own unconscious state in the bed beside him.

      “Good.   Gregory would appreciate that.  _Will_ appreciate that, I mean.  And Magnussen?”

Mycroft’s father reached into his pocket and took out the ring they had worked so hard to copy and a bloodstained pair of spectacles.

      “I think he was attacked by… something.  Scary place at night, those woods.”

Reaching out slowly to take the objects, Mycroft swallowed hard and tried to find some emotion inside himself.  Rage, satisfaction, relief… but nothing was there.   No, that was not true.  Gratitude.  There was absolutely a feeling of gratitude that his parents took the matter in hand and delivered to the villain the fate he deserved, for he had nothing in him now for revenge.  And, knowing his mother’s temper, that fate had been the harshest imaginable.

      “Yes, I suppose it is.  There is no telling who stalks the darkness, seeking to leap upon the unwary.”

      “Leaping… really, Mycroft.  Do you know how hard it is to leap in a dress?”

Now, there was another smile on Mycroft’s lips and he felt a little of the coldness in his soul start to warm.

      “No, but I am certain you will be happy to inform me, and in copious detail.”

      “Well, I suppose the details can wait… I am sure Gregory would like to hear them, as well, and I detest telling the same story twice.”

So says the woman who had told the tale of him as a toddler, throwing away his clothes and running naked through a grand banquet his parents were hosting so many times, it was now legend in most regions of the world.

      “Yes, that is quite true.  You dispense your stories with a very miserly hand…”

Mycroft reached out stroke his husband’s cheek and knew that his love would very much love to hear the details of what would be the grand and highly-exaggerated tale.  Adore hearing them told again and again, along with Sherlock and John’s theatrical oration of their single-handed capture of the assassin.  He simply had to wake to enjoy what was now a colorful part of their family history…

      “…but… is there any indication… when will we know if…”

The ‘if’ soured in Mycroft’s mouth, but hiding from the truth did not make it go away.

      “… Gregory will wake?”

The two older vampires shared a look, coming quickly to an agreement that full disclosure was the most honorable tactic and Mycroft’s father took the burden of providing the answer. 

      “Normally, after the next sunset.  However, it has occurred in only a matter of hours or after a second sunset has passed.  There is no firm rule, I’m afraid, son.  We can only wait.”

All his father received of him was another nod, but Mycroft felt no more was necessary.  What could words add to the basic statement of fact?   And this was something his parents recognized quickly, prompting the decision to leave their son alone to continue his vigil.  They would see he had a comfortable palette put in place to sleep, should his body actually win the fight to drag him into a rest, and do what they could to keep Sherlock’s and John’s spirits aloft while they endured the wait.  _And_ talk to the boys about what _they_ could do to help if the wait didn’t end the way they all hoped it would.

__________

Mycroft wouldn’t say he leapt up from his makeshift bed on the floor of the bedroom the very moment his eyes opened, but he _did_ and felt his heart dragged to the bottom of the ocean when he saw he was not greeted by two beautiful brown eyes staring back at him.  There was time, though.  The sun had only set a short while ago and there was a bounty of time before it would rise again.

Though he felt no hunger, Mycroft rang and ordered breakfast be delivered to him as soon as he finished dressing.  His husband would be most cross if there was any perceived neglect of his health during this time and his spouse did not need another thing to vex him while he made his way back to their family.  What the vampire did _not_ expect was his breakfast to be delivered by two pairs of small and slightly unsteady hands.

      “If this breakfast tray was any better provided with food, it could feed the entire village and not simply the half it could now support.  You are corpulent.”

      “Thank you, brother.  That is most kind of you.”

      “Sherlock’s just mad because we already had breakfast and your cook wouldn’t give him any more to eat.  She’s still mad he ate all the sausages when he was a dog and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

      “Yes, that was an astoundingly heinous act.  Thank you for delivering my meal, though.  It was suspiciously kind of you.”

      “Hey!  Just because we’re doing something nice doesn’t mean we have a _reason_ we’re doing something nice.”

      “And what might that not-reason be?”

      “We wondered if we could sit here for a little while and… read or play the card game Sherlock showed me or… talk to Greg.”

Mycroft felt the control of his emotions begin, again, to slip and knew that, although he would prefer the solitude, he could not deny this to the boys who currently doing their best not to look him in the eye.

      “I believe that to be a fine idea.  And, since Cook did provide a rather banquet-like breakfast, I am certain there is sufficient for us all to share.”

Sherlock and John quickly set down their trays and snatched various of the tastiest items for their own, while the older vampire poured himself a cup of tea and began to nibble a piece of bread.  This would be good for Gregory.  He would know, surely, how greatly he was loved and that would certainly motivate his being to take the steps to return to them.  How could he leave these wonderful… yes, even Gregory would laugh at that… these _energetic_ children, knowing how deeply they cared and how horribly they would miss him if he was never to return to  life.  A visit was just the thing his husband needed to help bring him closer to them, so a visit it would be.

      “Hey!  You can’t have that pastry!  It’s mine!”

      “I see not your name etched upon it.”

      “That’s evil, Sherlock and I’m going to make you pay for it.”

A normal, delightful, family visit…

__________

As the moon rose higher in the sky, Mycroft fought back the fear and frustration and refused entry to anyone beyond the delivery of the barest minimum of food, blood and water.  He was not even interested in wine to sooth his troubled mind.  Gregory had not stirred.  Not given any indication of rejoining his family.  By the time the dawn began to break, the vampire was pacing around the bedroom, unable to sit for more than a few moments before his anxiety set his limbs in motion to burn off the nervous energy that had built to a critical point.  But… his father had said that, sometimes, two sunsets was necessary.  And, if he gave it some thought, it was to be expected, was it not?  His Gregory had been so direly injured, merely seconds from a true death, and it would take time to heal that insult to his body.  Yes, another day of rest was certainly called for in this situation.  How foolish he had been to think otherwise…

__________

The moment his eyes opened, the vampire was on his feet to check his husband and felt his heart clench at the sight, which was same sight he had seen as he laid a soft kiss on Lestrade’s cheek before seeking his own rest.  But, it was early yet, scarcely after sunset and his love did enjoy lingering in bed.  Of course… he would indulge in a bit more sleep before he bid them hello.  It was so typical of his beloved… so very, very typical…

__________

Mycroft’s parents sat with their son and watched the sun rise, providing silent support for the nearly crippling sadness that was filling his core.

      “It… this cannot be.  Surely others have needed more time…”

Mycroft’s mother looked over her son’s shoulder to her husband and had another spousal conversation that had no need for words.  This time, she was the one chosen to deliver the news.

      “I talked to Martha and have read everything we have on our people’s lore… two nights is the longest wait, though there… there is _one_ tale of it requiring three, but that was likely because the individual was a witch, which is _highly_ unusual.”

      “Yes!  That is possible is it not?  Gregory is no witch, but he is _touched_ by witchcraft.  Has his own magic to wield… that is why he has not risen!  If a witch requires longer, then Gregory will undoubtedly require the same time.  Tomorrow night… he will be returned to me tomorrow night.  I was silly thinking that all was lost.  Very, very silly…”

The brittle and desperate tone of their son’s voice broke anew his parents’ hearts, but… another day of waiting would not cause any harm.  And Mycroft did not need to know they had already had prepared their son-in-law’s space in the family crypt.  He did not need to know until the last possible moment…

__________

There was no sense of the passage of time as Mycroft sat next to Lestrade’s bed on the third night and he certainly did not register his parents, Sherlock and John or Mrs. Hudson, who stopped in now and again to check on him and offer what comfort they could.  And there was no formal gathering of family as the sun rose, but everyone found themselves clustering near Lestrade’s bed, with the adults looking among each other to decide who would be the one to give the final pronouncement.  Deciding that Mycroft’s hatred of that person would make the person who didn’t actually live here day to day the kindest candidate, Mrs. Hudson stepped up to do the deed.

      “It’s time, lad.  Greg’s not coming back.  I’m sorry.  I’m very, very sorry.”

      “No!  No… see?  He is still… beautiful, is he not?”

      “Yes, not a bit of change from when he last drew breath, but there’s precedent for that.  It won’t be the case forever, but for these few days… don’t read anything into it, Mycroft.  It wasn’t his destiny to stay with us, no matter how much we wanted him to.”

John burst into tears and Sherlock followed in his own tightly-controlled way, small drops of water dotting his cheeks as his body stood rigid and vibrated with the effort of holding in his emotions.

      “No… I refuse to accept that.”

Mycroft’s parents wrapped arms around him and held him tightly, wishing they could do anything to take away their son’s pain.

      “We were privileged to have him in our lives, even for so short a time, son.  We will always have him in our hearts and in our memory.”

His son didn’t care about comforting words, but Mycroft’s father felt compelled to give them anyway.  What a tragedy… as greatly as his son was suffering, the older vampire’s heart went out as strongly to the boy they had lost.  There was nothing fair about his life.  Nothing.  He had been abandoned by Fate at birth and there was no surprise that it had shown him no favor here.  But, maybe, in his last days, he had found the happiness that had eluded him.  Ended his life with the love of a family restored to him and the deeper love of a spouse who would have built a world around him, if only they’d had time.  That was something, was it not?  Some small blessing for which to be thankful?  Or was this simply his rehearsal of the speech he would give his son over and over as Mycroft fought through the grief in years to come…

      “He cannot be… he cannot…”

Mycroft’s composure finally shattered and Mrs. Hudson took Sherlock and John in hand and led them out of the room so Mycroft could begin to mourn.  She’d take care of the little ones for now and help them with their own pain.  It was something she’d seen so often over her many years - the most deserving left this world far too soon - and these two were too young to have to face that terrible truth.  She’d be there for them, though.  Mycroft, too.  His heart would never fully heal, but with enough support, he would at least go on and live a life that his Greg would be proud of.  That was the best anyone could hope for and her little Mycroft wouldn’t let his husband down.  Just in case, though, she’d be there to remind him anytime he began to slip…

__________

Mycroft touched the face of the man he loved for the last time and took a step back to let the lid be lowered on his husband’s final resting place.  This ceremony had been for family, with John and his parents, along with Mrs. Hudson, attending for they had solidly stood at his love’s side through the hardship of his trial.  Tomorrow night, any in the village who wished to pay their respects would be gladly welcomed and given time to grieve his husband as they needed.  The circumstances had been terrible, but his Gregory’s arrest had demonstrated most fully how valued he was by those in the village, even given the short time they had known him.  Such was his lover’s nature… his gentle spirit and loving heart drew to him so many who admired the man he was.

      “Are these really all full of dead people?”

Mycroft wiped his eyes and smiled as best he could at the small elf.

      “Yes, John, they are.  Many of my family are here, actually.”

      “Good.  Greg would like that.  He liked being around people, so he’d like being where there were a lot of other people now, too.”

      “Yes, I believe he would.  And thank you very much for the lovely flowers you brought.  Gregory did very much appreciate the beauty of flowers.”

John reached over and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, squeezing it tight in shared sorrow.  The two had run off for awhile after John had arrived and gathered arms full of flowers to lay around the base of Lestrade’s tomb.  Neither was doing particularly well at the moment, but, at least, the boys no longer choked on emotion when they mentioned Lestrade’s name.

      “Now, I believe there are refreshments to be enjoyed, if I am not mistaken.  My husband would surely be pleased that we enjoyed a nice nibble and, perhaps, a bit of wine on this special night.  He did greatly love celebrating with those in his life and we might talk about good things, might we not?  Remember Gregory’s… his joy for life and those who shared it with him.”

Mycroft moved away as his mother tried to put her arm around his shoulders and started for the door to the crypt, paying no heed if anyone followed him or not.  Stay in motion.  Do not stop or he would have time to think or feel and that… he could not allow that now.  If he did, he would drown in the tears that were battering at him to be released.  His Gregory was gone and he had been the one who made it so.  He was as much a murderer as the assassin who fired the bolt into his beloved’s chest.  And he would _never_ forgive himself for that.  Never award himself the slightest bit of forgiveness for doing this to his spouse.

And dear Sherlock… he had said so very little since Gregory left, but he would.  Sherlock knew well what had happened and he _would_ say something.  When he could hold it in no longer he would levy the accusation of murder and it would be an accusation gladly accepted.  He would accept his brother’s screams and fists and teeth and whatever Sherlock decided to give to pay him for stealing away one of the pitifully few who loved and understood him.  He would let Sherlock rage and destroy and take every bit of it as his due.  He would already live the rest of his life as a broken man… who cared if the pieces were a little smaller and harder to hold together…

__________

<……….>

<…..?.....>

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      “What the…”

Why was it so dark?  His eyes were open…he’d checked twice!  And this was the most uncomfortable bed he’d ever lain on and he’d lain on bare ground enough times to know.  And where was Mycroft?  Why was he so hungry?  And why wasn’t his brain working right?  Everything was a fog.  What was going on?  And why was he so _fucking_ hungry…

Why was there… can’t reach anywhere and not hit stone.  Or more stone.  Stone all around.  Stone everywhere.  And no light.  What was happening?  Was this… why wasn’t Mycroft in this bed with him?  Not that he could blame him because it was stupidly uncomfortable, but still…  And he was so hungry… maybe Mycroft went for breakfast.  Maybe he should, too.

Why… what was… were the bed curtains made of stone, too?  This was… sorry, Mycroft, but we’re not keeping this bed.  It’s awful.  And the bed curtains are too… ok, push harder this time… too heavy to move every night.  They make a fucking loud noise when you get them off you, too!  Who picked this bed?  Maybe this was one of Sherlock’s spells gone wrong.  That would make sense.  They’d talk about it later.  No magicking the bed while he was still sleeping it.

Ok… this was strange.  He was in his clothes.  Had he gotten drunk?  Could have… Mycroft had very good wine.  Fell asleep in his clothes and Sherlock hexed the bed.  Perfect.  Funny, too, but… how long had he been asleep?  He was starving!  And where was he, anyway?  This wasn’t their bedroom.  Too cold and dusty.  Mycroft hated dust.  There was a door, though.  Maybe that led to breakfast…

__________

All of his husband’s favorites.  This was a fine goodbye to his Gregory.  Stories were being told and memories revisited.  There was good food and fine wine and even laughter at things remembered.  Yes, his husband would…

      “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

John’s scream ripped through the dining room and the elf toppled backwards in his chair trying to get away from the vision that appeared at the door.

      “Oh my…”

Mrs. Hudson was the first to unfreeze from shock and quickly ran a practiced eye over the figure, wanting to weep when she found absolutely no trace of black magic but, instead, one newly-born vampire standing in their midst.

      “Mycroft… go to your husband.  It _is_ him and he’s probably wondering why he was left all alone.”

Mycroft blinked and found himself clutching his chest as if to restart his heart, but leapt up at the witch’s order and cautiously approached Lestrade, who was licking his lips at the sight of food, but confused as to why his stomach wasn’t telling him to dig in.

      “Gregory…”

      “It was a joke, right?”

      “What?”

      “That bed.  Sherlock turned it to stone, probably because… I’m sorry I got drunk on you.  Passed out like an idiot.  That’s not right.  Is there… I’m really hungry, but none of that… do we have something else?”

Mycroft’s parents looked at each other and shot out of the dining room to get Greg what he really needed to stem his hunger, while John’s parents ignored their hysterical son and jumped up to help Mycroft walk his husband to a chair and press a little water into his hands, which Lestrade greedily drank.

      “That’s helping.  What you need after a good drunk.  A lot of… I’m still so hungry, though.  Love?  Is there… can you find me something to eat?”

Sherlock glared at Mrs. Hudson and was joined by John, who’d climbed back into his chair after he decided they weren’t being visited by something raised by a necromancer.

      “Is it so?”

The witch smiled and nodded, sharing that nod with the Watsons who were doing their own bit of analysis of Lestrade.

      “Yes, Sherlock, we’ve got our Greg back.  Took his own sweet time about it, but he’s definitely back.”

Sherlock began to breathe heavily and his face contorted as he held back another display of emotion, though John lost his battle and gained his mother’s handkerchief to wipe away his tears.

      “Love?  What’s wrong?  Why’s John crying?  Why are _you_ crying?”

Something Mycroft was doing as freely as the young elf and he cared not a whit that everyone was witness to it.

      “Because… much has happened of late, my dear.  My beloved, beloved Gregory.  We shall talk, you and I, and all will be explained.  Ah… but first, though, drink this.  It will make you feel better.”

Mycroft took one of the goblets of blood his father was holding and watched with a large smile as Lestrade drained it dry, much as he did the other three he was passed.

      “Oh… ok.  Yeah, that was exactly what I needed.  What was it, anyway?”

Mycroft broke down into laughter and hugged his husband with all his might, something that would have broken his love’s ribs only a few days ago.  Taking Lestrade by the hand, he motioned for his spouse to follow so they could begin what would be a very eye-opening discussion for his dearly beloved.  In their wake was a room that suddenly erupted into a real celebration that merited the best the kitchens and wine cellar had to offer.  It wasn’t often the good and righteous saw a victory in this world, but their new vampire had won his and that was worthy of celebrating until dawn.  Happily for them all, dawn was a long ways away…

__________

_One month later_

      “Gregory Lestrade-Holmes!  You are going to be late and that is completely improper for your first night of work!”

Lestrade laughed and pulled his fakely-glaring husband back down into the bed for a long and passionate kiss.

      “I’ve got time.  Maybe I can’t become a bat and fly yet, but you’ve got fast horses and that black one likes me, so it’ll be happy to put some pep in its step.”

Mycroft gently nipped the tip of Lestrade’s nose and reveled in the feel of his body as it was massaged by his husband’s laughter.

      “You are incorrigible.  And a man of the law, too.  A scofflaw is more like it.”

      “Hey!  It’s not my fault that there’s not much farming done at night!  But one thing my time in jail did teach me is that there’s always a need for a constable willing to work overnight.  Believe me, the lads were happy to take me on if it meant getting to spend their nights with their loved ones.  And with the money I’ll make, I can take you out to the tavern now and then for a little beer and a lot of nonsense.”

His husband’s salary, in Mycroft’s opinion, was disgracefully small, but he may have been slightly biased in that assessment.

      “I look forward to it.  And try not to be late, as Mummy wants us to make a final decision on the stone for statuary in the side garden.”

      “Just tell her to pick what she thinks is nicest.  That’s what will happen anyway.”

      “True, but she does enjoy allowing us the illusion of a hand in the decision.  We are but a scant few weeks away from taking up residence in our new home and she very much wants it to be perfect for us.”

      “Can’t fault her for that.  Alright, I’ll make sure to be home on time.”

      “And _arrive_ to work on time, as well.  Kindly remove your lazy self from our bed and make a start on your grooming.”

Lestrade smiled in the way he knew made his Mycroft shudder and let his fangs drop slowly.

      “How about I do something else instead.  A little fun to start the day.”

Mycroft moaned slightly and turned his head from instinct and desire, before regaining his senses and giving his spouse his most stern look.

      “Seducing me will not spare you a lecture on punctuality.”

      “No, but sinking my fangs into that beautiful skin and stroking your gorgeous cock until you come will probably work.”

Well, if he was going to be argumentative…

      “Oh… I suppose you may have a small seduction.”

      “Only a small one?”

      “Yes.  Infinitesimally small.”

This time, when Mycroft leaned his head, Lestrade wasted no time biting deeply and felt his own rush of pleasure, both from the taste on his tongue and the sound of Mycroft’s voice sighing his name in rough and aroused tones.  Being a vampire had its problems, like finding work, but it had its rewards, too.  The greatest one was here, in his arms, gaining an erection that would be his privilege to take care of before they left this bed.  Only needed one more thing…

With a wave of his hand, a fire blossomed in their hearth and began burning merrily.  The nights had been a bit cold and, since his husband was going to be blessedly naked in a moment, it wouldn’t do for Mycroft to get chilled, not where there was the world’s only vampire firestarter in the bedroom to take care of that little problem.  Mrs. Hudson couldn’t break the curse now that he wasn’t human, but that was alright.  He was stronger now.  Faster, too.  He could keep his Mycroft safe no matter what happened.  And, anyway, it was a small price to pay for a near eternity with the man he loved.

      “Gregory… this is _not_ a small seduction…”

No, it was the start of a grand one.  One to last a lifetime…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my most sincere thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos. They have made working on this story a true delight...


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